


wilbur soot angst oneshots

by goatlysacrifices



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Fainting, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Injury, Insomnia, Omega Wilbur Soot, Panic Attacks, Platonic A/B/O, Sickfic, Siren Wilbur Soot, Sleep Deprivation, Trans Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, i have no idea how to tag im just tagging stuff i would write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatlysacrifices/pseuds/goatlysacrifices
Summary: i am in quarantine and bored and fully ready to hurt my comfort streamer for your entertainment.requests are not only welcome but encouraged !!
Relationships: all platonic you fucks - Relationship
Comments: 146
Kudos: 382





	1. info

hello everyone its lovely to have you here, thank you for coming.

in complete honesty i have no idea what i am doing, but i have nothing better to do than project on minecraft youtubers so here i am!

i'm pretty ok with writing anything, although my speciality really is wilbur angst, so feel free to request whatever (aside from the obvious no shipping or anythin). i'll update any character or general tags as chapters are posted, hopefully i'll have figured out how to do it properly by then.

some stuff i would write would be sickfics, hurt/comfort but id also do stuff like trans wilbur or really whatever you want.

requests are fully open so comment anything you want and ill get round to it as fast as possible but please bear in mind that i am still doing online classes so i cant promise fast updates, we will see how it goes however :)


	2. Coffee and Migraines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps giving Wilbur Soot, known insomniac, complete access to coffee is not the best of ideas. [IRL fic]
> 
> Request from Serendipitous_Posts: could you do one where Wilbur hasn't slept in days and the SBI work together to get him to sleep? just a suggestion :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: nothing i think, insomnia maybe?

It was February 22nd and Wilbur Soot was tired.

Not just tired but exhausted, overworked and drained. Just, tired.

He was so tired in fact, that he wasn’t quite sure how long he had been awake. His bloodshot eyes too blurry to read his computer screen properly, brain too fuzzy to do even the simplest of mental maths. He knew it had been at least 2 days, since the 20th, but apart from that he was lost.

How tired he was however, was irrelevant. Because no matter how many times he told himself he should sleep, he couldn’t. He had tried, god he had tried, but lying in bed staring up at the off-white ceiling got old after a while. So that’s why he was currently sat at his desk editing a video.

Or well, he was sat at his desk. Not much editing was getting done at this point, that ship had long past sailed. He just couldn’t seem to get his brain and his hand to communicate, which was incredibly frustrating as he had told himself he could sleep after he finished this video. Although at the rate he was going it seemed he was doomed to stay awake for the rest of time.

Staring at the audio files he currently had open, Wilbur felt his eyes droop slightly. Everything felt further away for the span of about a few seconds before he blinked it away. He couldn’t force himself to stay awake for much longer but he really needed to upload this video soon. 

Maybe more coffee would help?

The coffee was in the kitchen though, and that meant he would have to get up and walk to the other side of the house, down the stairs, and all the way back again. Not something he was looking forward to.

But alas, he pushed past the bone deep ache in his limbs and stood out of his chair on shaking legs; only for the world to tilt on its axis. 

Wilbur felt all the blood rush to his head as his ears were filled with the sound of static, the room spinning so badly he was forced to hold himself up by grabbing onto his desk. Reality seemed to fade out before his legs gave out and he collapsed back into his chair. No coffee then.

The only option he was left with was the old coffee he hadn’t quite finished from last night. He thinks it’s from last night anyway, it could have been the night before that. They all blend into one anyway.

The coffee is startlingly cold as he drinks it, after feeling next to nothing for a solid couple of hours. He can’t quite call the sensation unpleasant—not after not drinking anything since yesterday, any sort of liquid running down his dry throat feels like a godsend. Even if it is day old coffee.

Having chugged what was remaining, Wilbur placed the empty mug at the edge of his desk, feeling his hand tremble as it moved back to its place of rest on his keyboard. He _needed_ to finish this video.

Settling back into work, it wasn’t long before he encountered his next distraction—his stomach. If he hadn’t had water since yesterday, he definitely hadn’t had food since the day before that. Which, he supposes, isn’t ideal but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. As, like the coffee, the food is also kept in the kitchen and it’s already been established that that’s off the table. He was left to just suffer in silence.

Or perhaps not in silence?

There was some strange ringing echoing through his head; its different from the one he’s been hearing for the past couple of hours. This one seemed more lyrical, as if it had a small tune to it. If he listened close enough he could almost recognise it. But as soon as it appeared, it was gone. The silence was jarring in comparison and Wilbur didn’t fight it this time when his eyes started to close.

* * *

To say Phil was worried was a slight understatement.

His brow was creased as he stared at Wilbur’s discord profile for the third or forth time that hour. The green online icon taunted him, haunted his dreams. Ok, maybe he was being slightly dramatic but he was concerned! He hadn’t seen Wilbur’s profile set as offline in at least 2 days, and that’s only since he noticed it. It could have been even longer for all he knows.

Worst of all, he wont even respond to any messages. The last reply he had got was from the 19th, some stupid joke about his responsibility, as his father, to beat up KSI on Tommy’s behalf. God, he didn’t even want to think about responsibility right now.

“You really will end up like an old man if you keep your face like that.”

Startling, Phil turned around in his desk chair only to have a plate of something shoved near his face. Looking up from the plate he now recognised contained a doughnut, he raised an eyebrow at Kristen, taking the plate from her hand.

“You looked like you needed it,” she supplied simply, leaning on the back of his chair when he turned it back around to place the plate on the desk next to his mouse. “What’s up?”

He took a bite of his doughnut before answering, “I haven’t seen Wilbur go offline since like, two days ago.” He paused to take another bite. “He won’t respond to dms either.”

“Well maybe—“

Whatever Kristen was about to say was cut off by a ping from Phil’s computer. 

Discord.

They both focused back on the monitor screen only to see a notification from Tommy in the the sleepy bois inc groupchat.

_**Sleepy Bois Incorporated** _

_NOT child-_ has anyone heard from will? 

_blood god_ \- not since thursday, why?

 _NOT child-_ he wont answer my dms

 _NOT child-_ I called him a bit ago but he didn’t pick up

Phil pushed the plate to the side, pulled the keyboard closer so he could type.

 _The Authority-_ I haven’t heard from him either

 _The Authority-_ I’m a bit concerned

 _NOT child-_ we could always annoy him into replying

 _blood god-_ shouldn’t be hard

 _NOT child-_ bITCH

Phil chuckled at Tommy’s reply before moving his mouse to start a group call.

* * *

It seemed the coffee had helped, at least somewhat. Wilbur was no longer uselessly sat in his chair and was now somewhat editing his video. Not much more work was being done if he was honest with himself but coffee could only get you so far.

He still felt absolutely shitty, the coffee definitely didn’t help with that. The aching tiredness hadn’t been removed and his head was still pounding. The room still spun slightly, and if he focuses too hard on one spot the edges of his vision would go blurry but he was _fine._

It was _fine._

So what if he hadn’t slept in days? He was finally getting his video done; he could sleep when he finished. What good was a fucking youtuber who didn’t upload any videos? It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. He was used to it. Life was repetitive like that.

Another thing that was repetitive apparently, was the darn ringing. Although this time, he recognised it. The jolly tune had seemingly come from the pits of hell to taunt him specifically.

It was fucking discord.

Of course it was. Why couldn’t his friends leave him to his despair?

Sighing, he rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pops they gave off after being sat in his chair for so long. Did he really have to answer? He’d been ignoring discord for a while; he could always do it for a little longer. But he really did want to talk to his friends, he just wasn’t sure they’d be thrilled to talk to him in the state he was in. Either way, they were going to have to as he had already clicked to accept the call.

It seemed the other occupants of the groupchat had beat him to that step as they all greeted him with zest as his audio connected. Three different greetings overlapping filtering into his ears was a bit too much for Wilbur at the moment and he let himself sink back into his chair a bit, letting out a small sound of discomfort.

Almost immediately the voices raised in volume, which was the opposite of what he wanted. He rested his head in his hands and his elbows on his armrests as he waited for them to quiet down.

When they did, it was surprisingly Techno’s voice that broke the silence with a tentative “Will? You there?”

Wilbur replied with a hum, wanting nothing more than to just lie down and let his migraine consume him. 

“You alright big man?” 

“Yeah, sorry I’m just” —he licked his lips, grimacing slightly at the taste of blood— “I’m not feeling the best.”

“Are you sick?”

_Was he sick?_

He didn’t think so. He felt sick but he couldn’t be, right? But who’s to say what deadly diseases someone may have laying under the surface of their skin. Just waiting to—

“Will, when was the last time you slept?”

Phil’s voice cuts through the noise and breaks him out of his spiral. When was the last time he slept? Did he even have an answer to that question? Phil was obviously expecting one. _Oh god he needs to answer._

“I dunno. Two- two days maybe?”

He asks it like a question.

_That wasn’t a question. Why did he answer with a question?_

He hears Tommy make a concerned noise at the back of his throat before Phil is speaking again.

“Alright well, I think you should get some sleep then. We can talk tomorrow.”

Yeah.

Sleep sounded nice.

_But the video. He needs to finish the video._

“You can finish your video tomorrow Will, just get some sleep first.”

Huh. Was he thinking out loud? He really needs to stop doing that.

“I- I need to finish it now,” he mumbled. “I’d be bad at my job if I didn’t upload videos.”

“Alright, actually stab me next time, why don’t you?”

_Oh god he insulted Techno. Oh no. Oh fuck._

“Big dubs, genuinely, you can take a break. Get some rest and come back to the video,” Tommy offers, and then after he is met with silence he adds in a slightly desperate voice, “please Wilbur.”

And how can he say no to that.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.” Wilbur stands from his chair, still having to grip his desk for support. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

He gets a chorus of byes in response—a shouted _get some sleep_ mixed in there for good luck—feeling them settle somewhere warm in his chest. And when he’s laying in bed, having not bothered to change his clothes, if he smiles at the thought of his friends caring for him, well, nobody has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending is incredibly cheesy but i could not for the life of me think of another way to end it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	3. Wilbur Soot is bad at charades.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a siren hybrid, Wilbur was more prone to losing his voice. It was just a thing that came with the powers. [Minecraft fic]
> 
> Or, 3 times Wilbur lost his voice because of his family, and one time he lost his voice for them.
> 
> Request from sunny: mute!wilbur fic where hes a siren hybrid and forced to stop talking or loses his voice or something :0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it isn't clear everyone in this one is a hybrid! Phil is a avian hybrid, Techno is a piglin hybrid, Wilbur is a siren, Tommy is a racoon and Tubbo is a moobloom. (i got tired of writing the word hybrid)
> 
> the first three aren't that angsty but i feel the last one makes up for it ;)
> 
> Cw: slight blood and injury (only for the last one)

**1\. Techno**

Wilbur's throat hurt.

He could go into a bit more detail about that: his mouth was so dry it felt like he had just taken a bite of netherrack, the back of his throat felt like someone had waged a war back there, hell, he could practically hear his vocal cords screaming.

To put it simply, he wasn’t happy.

He tried to make this fact as clear as possible to Techno, who emerged into the living room with a cup of tea and an apologetic look.

The boy in question didn’t look much better off, with bruises and cuts littering the skin that could be seen, mainly his arms. He, unfortunately, still had the ability to talk, which was made obvious by the nonstop excuses that had been coming from his side of the sofa for the past hour or so.

He met Techno's eye from across the room and Wilbur knew he was in for some more.

“Really? You're still mad? I made you tea!” he exclaimed, pausing at the furrow of the other’s brow before adding (only slightly desperately), “it has honey in it!”

Wilbur huffed, burrowing deeper into his cocoon of blankets but still holding out a hand to accept the hot beverage. Techno seemed to hover awkwardly for a moment before settling down onto the sofa beside Wilbur, tucking his hooves under him.

Wilbur takes a sip if the liquid, relishing in the feeling of it running down his scratchy throat.

“You know I still think that I could’ve handled that guy on my own.”

Techno immediately shut up after seeing the look he was getting over the top of the cup, settling down more comfortably against the back of the sofa. He sighed, trying to find the right words to assemble his thoughts together.

“Sorry, I just,” —he swallowed deeply, something Wilbur was incredibly envious of— “I'm supposed to look after you guys.”

Wilbur let out a small angry noise, instantly regretting it, moving to bump his twin’s shoulder with his own. Techno looked up from his lap at the disruption and stared straight into the other boy’s eyes, surprised to see no real anger in them.

Wilbur looked back into his eyes as long as he could before he got bored, crossing his eyes just to hear the others laughter. They settled into a comfortable silence as Wilbur finished his tea, knowing they only had so long to relax before Tommy got home.

* * *

**2\. Tubbo**

“You know I think that went quite well!”

Wilbur fixed Tubbo with a level stare from where he was laid across from him on the forest floor.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! We got the thing Phil asked us to get from the guy. Mission accomplished!”

Wilbur absolutely could not believe him. If his throat didn’t feel as if it would burst into flames upon him even opening his mouth, he would currently be in the process of giving the moobloom hybrid tinnitus. 

Maybe some other time. Or maybe Phil would do it for him when they finally stumble their way back to the house. Whatever situation plays out, he was sure that Tubbo would regret the choices he made today.

He probably already was, being chased by the palace guard through large stretches of forest—with roots and stones just waiting under the leaves to trip you—wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The embarrassing squeal he made when the shopkeeper grabbed him by the hood as they tried to escape the chaos he’d created was a memory he’d probably wish to forget sooner rather than later.

“I still can’t believe that guy threw a knife at you! I mean, if he didn’t like your singing he could have just said.”

Wilbur raised his hand and smacked Tubbo on the arm as hard as he dared to; the bruises from their encounter already starting to show up all over the boy. Wilbur was sure he looked about the same.

“What!?” Tubbo sat up with a grin on his face, rubbing his arm. “Aw, do you want a thank you? Wilbur I am so very grateful that you used your beautiful siren voice to get us out of that mess. I know how oh so very hard it is for you!”

Tubbo took the opportunity to flop himself on top of the other boy, looking up at him with exaggerated puppy dog eyes. “How can I ever repay you?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

Wilbur took one look at the other’s pouty face before shoving face first back onto the floor. He heard a muffled _yeah that’s fair_ as he was getting up, looking through the bag they had with them. Upon seeing a lack of the potion supplies that Phil asked for, he turned to look at Tubbo, who was now sat up on the floor.

Making a vague hand gesture he pointed to Tubbo and then to the bag, hoping that the shorter got what he was getting at.

“Oo! Are we playing charades? How many words?”

Apparently, he did not. Wilbur sighed before emptying the contents of the bag out in front of Tubbo, who looked down in confusion. He then looked back up at Wilbur, before looking back down at the mess at his feet.

A gasp.

“WE DIDN’T GET THE THING!”

_God Phil was gonna kill them._

* * *

**3\. Phil**

He probably should have talked to Phil before it got this bad.

Well, bit too late now, the unhelpful side of his brain supplied.

It had started a couple of days ago; the late nights spent writing and the early mornings helping Techno in the farm were starting to take a toll on him, leaving him constantly irritated. The fact that Tubbo had borrowed one of his shirts to play with Tommy without asking him first certainly hadn’t helped. Phil was trying to teach him how to cook as well and it was not going well. Tommy making a comment over dinner about him being bitchy lately was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He hadn’t meant to cause a fuss over their wonderful meal of chicken alfredo (that Phil had to rescue from his arsonous hands) it just kind of happened. 

He also hadn’t meant to snap at Tommy, that just happened as well.

Well, maybe he had meant to snap at Tommy—the bastard deserved it anyway.

What he _definitely_ hadn’t meant to do, however, was knock the glass off the table. That was definitely an accident.

Which was why he was currently outside—at the cliff face to be exact—taking his anger out on the grass. He wasn’t sure what the grass had done, he was the only one at fault for his actions. It still made him feel better somewhat imagining something he could beat up to solve his problems.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of wingbeats coming from above him. Phil had found him then. Either that or some massive bird had come along to swoop him away and feed him to her chicks.

Wilbur wasn’t sure what option he would prefer.

“Hey,” Phil called, landing a few meters behind him. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

Wilbur pointedly did not look at Phil, even as he walked over to sit next to him on the grass.

“I dunno, I like to watch the waves I guess,” Wilbur mumbled, yanking another handful of grass from the soil.

Phil made a quiet noise of understanding, moving forward slightly to look over the edge of the cliff. A silence lulled over the pair, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. No one spoke for a few minutes before Phil tentatively spoke up.

“Did it help?”

Wilbur hummed in confusion, turning to look at his father for an explanation. Phil chuckled at his puzzled expression before clarifying.

“The yelling, I mean. Did it help to let it all out?”

Wilbur paused for a second, considering it. Now that he thought about it, he did feel significantly calmer than before dinner. 

“Yeah I guess,” he uttered. “It didn’t do as much as I’d hoped it would though.” 

“Well then do it some more”

“Huh?”

“Shout! Scream! No one’s around here, you can be as loud as you want!” Phil laughed, pulling himself to his feet then offering a hand to Wilbur.

If anyone were to have seen them, they would have laughed at the two idiots shouting at the ocean together but the father and son duo didn’t care. And in the morning, when Wilbur found himself unable to talk, he still couldn’t will himself to care.

* * *

**+1. Tommy**

_Fuck._

That was really the only thought running through Wilbur's head at the moment.

He felt he had good reason, though he was sure that if swearing was a sin; one look in his head right now was enough to damn him to the pits of hell forever. 

Seriously though, what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do?

He had Tommy's limp body cradled in his arms, in desperate need of medical attention. Not to mention the hoard of decaying zombies that were fast approaching where he was sprawled out on the cold stone. It wasn’t like he could outrun them; he would probably struggle to on his own without having to carry Tommy the whole way as well. Plus, there was the issue of the steep stone wall he would have to scale to even start running.

That wasn’t even taking into account the fact that there was definitely something wring with his ribs. He wasn’t sure what happened exactly, it could have been the hard-heeled boot that slammed into his chest earlier, when the chief of the village they were passing through decided that hybrids weren’t welcome. If it was that, then the running he had to do to escape definitely wouldn’t have helped, though, it was more likely to have been the twenty-something foot drop they had encountered when falling into the cave they were now stuck in.

Dragging himself over to where Tommy lay unconscious wasn’t his best of ideas now that he was reminiscing, he was sure that he had felt something move inside of him. Even so, he couldn’t just leave him. Looking down at his grimy face, Wilbur tried to wipe some of the blood away, hands shaking ever so slightly.

Noticing that the boy was frowning, even in his motionless state, he moved his hand to his head to play with his hair gently. How he wished he still had his voice so that he could reassure him that everything was going to be okay, but the two were left with just the sound of the cave and the zombies.

_Shit, the zombies._

He couldn’t use his siren abilities, he'd already tried. That was how he lost his voice in the first place, his aching throat just another problem to add to the list. The only weapon available to him would be loose stone lying around, not the best of choice against a literal hoard of the undead.

It was the only thing he had however, so he had to at least try.

Careful not to jostle Tommy, he reached for a stone, hand getting cut slightly in the process of scrambling blindly across the jagged cave floor. Finding a decently sized one he brought it closer, resting it on Tommy's chest for a moment so he could get a better grip. Bringing his arm up while ignoring the strain the action brought his tired muscles, he threw the rock as hard as he could towards the nearest mob—only for it to bounce off of its face without so much as a dent.

Yep, they were royally fucked.

Wilbur turned around to face the wall to place himself between the threat and Tommy, resting his head against the wall. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath; he would just have to accept his fate.

He still tensed when he felt a claggy hand grab his ankle, tucking his brother further into his chest waiting for a blow.

A blow that… never came?

Peeking out over Tommy's tufts of hair and forever unruly ears, Wilbur turned to see nothing more than a flash of red. Upon further inspection it appeared to be Techno's infamous cape. That’s good. They were gonna be fine.

He couldn’t hear much over the pounding from his heart in his ears, likely an after effect of the adrenaline, but he did recognise the distinct sounds of conflict, sword clashes and grunts of pain. Knowing that Techno would keep them safe he let himself relax, slumping down against the cool stone while still being careful that Tommy didn’t hit his head.

After a minute or so the noise died down and was replaced by the sound of soft footsteps. Wilbur felt a hand rest on his cheek so he opened his eyes _when had he closed them?_ to greet the concerned face of the piglin hybrid.

“Hey Will. You don’t have to talk, alright? We’ve got you. Both of you.”

If Wilbur squinted hard enough, he could make out the outline of dark grey wings against the blue sky—but that was too much effort and he was very tired. So, he just nodded and let his eyes slip shut, content to trust his twin in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i may have just used this to practice writing dialogue but what are you gonna do? sue me?
> 
> also small announcement: i might have to give up on attempting these in order, so sorry if you have to wait to see your request !!
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	4. Vertigo's a bitch but so am i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur hasn't felt great for a long time, at least he has his friends to support him. Quite literally in some cases. [IRL fic]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't a request and is more of a vent but it's still wilbur angst so it fits :)
> 
> this chapter is a collection of stories in chronological order, the events happen over a span of a couple of months. just in case it wasn't clear
> 
> Cw: Mentions of cor*na v*rus, doctors, hospitals and fainting

If you asked the average person how they felt about doctors you could probably expect a standard sort of answer. That they were doing god's work, or they were heroic, constantly helping and saving people for nothing in return. Or even that they were smart, which you would think would have to at least be a minimum if you were letting them dictate such a large part of people’s lives. 

But if you asked Wilbur Soot what he thought of doctors, you were likely to get a vastly different opinion.

He’d always had a weird relationship with his health, since the very beginning. Constant thoughts plagued his mind of the things that could go wrong, or reasons for the things that are going wrong. It was exhausting. A never-ending battle with your mind would be tiring enough, coupled with the fact that he wasn’t feeling great in the first place. Throw in some panic attacks here and there and you have a perfect recipe for a bad time.

And while he supposes that was bad enough on its own, it really doesn’t help how unhelpful all doctors seem to be about it. They always acted like they were too busy to deal with his problems, and while, he got it, there were obviously lots of people who had it far worse off than him. That didn’t mean he felt any less disappointed when he got brushed off yet again being told to _drink more water_ and to _exercise._

The worst part about it was their insistence that it was all caused by his anxiety. It wasn’t. It genuinely could not be more in your face that this was a real issue that was affecting his life but they never seemed to care. It got even worse after we was officially diagnosed. The doctors all had a fancy little loophole they could use whenever they wanted, instead of actually having to put work into helping him.

So, they sent him away with a weary smile and a _come back if anything changes_ although they knew nothing would change, at least not for the better. But it was fine. He was managing.

So what if he was struggling to eat three full meals a day because he couldn’t stand at a kitchen counter long enough to make himself something worthwhile, he could live off of noodles like a broke college student. So what if getting out of bed in the morning was a hassle because the ceiling swam while he was still lying down and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like trying to sit up. So what if he was finding it hard to talk to his friends as the bright light from his computer screen burned into his retinas and made him even dizzier. So what if he occasionally woke up on the floor with the concerned face of one of his flatmates hovering over him. It wasn’t a big deal.

At least it wasn’t, until lockdown.

It was a bleak situation to begin with, a deadly virus making its way around the globe leaving a path of destruction in its wake. The prospect of a complete nationwide quarantine wasn’t that appealing either but it was manageable, it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t until about a month or two into staying at home that things started to take a drastic turn for the worse. Without a proper structure it was harder to remember to eat, leaving him feeling faint almost all the time. Staying inside meant a steep decline in the amount of exercise he was getting, no matter how much he tried to do at home, meaning any strength he had built up before was quickly lost. Then came the sleepless nights: hours spent mindlessly scrolling, too awake to even attempt to fall asleep. Or the hours spent either lying on his floor or slumped miserably against the edge of his bed, head resting on his arms, as the world swam around him. Taunting him.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it though. Going to the doctors, or even the hospital, was a horrible idea at the moment so he was left to deal with it by himself. He was completely powerless.

Nothing reminded him of this fact more than the first time he passed out.

It was a normal day, at least normal by his standards. He woke up feeling incredibly light-headed and had to just lay there for a minute, grounding himself. By the time he felt alright enough to get up it was almost midday so it wasn’t as if he was going to get much work done anyway. He ended up just migrating to the sofa in the living room, too tired to even care about his flatmates’ worried eyes boring into the back of his skull. He was too tired to do anything more than mope.

He did have work to do though, so after a late breakfast of plain toast that he absolutely did _not_ struggle to finish he figured a shower would do him some good.

The shower, in fact, did him no good. It did the complete opposite of good. It did him so very bad. The hot water, while pleasant at first, made quick work of the normally cool bathroom. The air was so hot and humid that Wilbur spent most of his shower sat on the floor with his head against the wall. At least the tile was cool, pressed against his cheek so hard it felt like it was trying to rearrange his facial features. His vision seemed to want to echo the spirit of the water as he had never felt dizzier and by the time he forced himself up and out of the shower he just want to curl up and cry.

He didn’t though, he didn’t have the energy.

He struggled to bend over to fish fresh clothes out of his chest of drawers—having to sit on the floor afterwards. He only seemed to get worse as he continued getting changed and by the time he pulled his sweater over his head, he was pretty accepting of death. Anything to stop the room from spinning like he was trapped on the inside a washing machine.

Standing up, albeit unsteadily, Wilbur made his way over to his desk.

Or, he took a couple of steps in the direction of his desk before he felt all of the blood rush from his head. Reaching out for anything to steady himself, he fought against the overwhelming feeling of vertigo. Though he was beginning to believe it was a losing battle. Everything seemed further away than it normally was, leaving no hope of him finding a gracious wall to lean himself on. Even through the haze, he was sure the floor was closer than it was before, raising his hands in attempt to greet it. His attempt was unsuccessful however, and Wilbur hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

* * *

Wilbur quite liked the discord ringtone; it was a lot more fun than the standard calling sound; was generally quite catchy and it meant that he was soon to talk to one of his friends. Right now, however, it was the literal bane of his existence.

Tuning it out was beginning to prove difficult, though he had been trying for the past five minutes. For three of those long minutes his face has been pressed against the cool surface of his desk in an effort to stave off the blurry spots in his vision that the computer screen gave him. His fingers were fucking freezing: to the point where he was considering wearing gloves in the house. It wasn’t even cold, more likely something to do with his failing circulatory system. Additionally, his legs were beginning to go numb from the knees down after being sat in the same position for so long but Wilbur couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

He probably should’ve cared. They were supposed to be filming another minecraft mod video today and he was currently in the process of letting a lot of people down. Not only Tommy and the others involved in the recording, but all the people who were waiting to see Tommy's new video. It wasn’t like he had been streaming lately so they were practically starved for any scrap of content involving him. He had wanted to play as well, recording for Tommy's videos is always a blast. Charlie was here this week as well, though through the fog filling his brain Wilbur couldn’t really remember who else was joining them, Phil probably. 

That didn’t mean he was any more motivated to join the call that was assaulting his ears every so often. It didn’t matter if joining that call would bring world peace; Wilbur was not mentally or physically prepared to deal with content Tommy at the moment. If sitting up a bit more in his chair made his vision dance with indescribable shapes what would having an excited child screaming directly into his ear drums do? Wilbur wasn’t about to find out.

But while part of him was perfectly content to curl up in his desk chair in agony for the better part of the night—maybe even drag himself into bed at some point much _much_ later. The other part of him, probably the part that had grown so emotionally attached to this kid he had found, couldn’t wrong him like that. Tommy was counting on him; he couldn’t just leave him high and dry. It wouldn’t be fair.

So as much as Wilbur wanted nothing more than to turn off his computer and welcome the leisurely approaching threat of unconsciousness, he lifted his head from his desk, check red from being smooshed, and pressed the blurry green button displayed on his monitor.

The sound of the call connecting was almost completely drowned out by a victorious shout of “Big dubs!” and _no_ Wilbur was not already regretting his decision. 

He replied with a small “Hey Toms,” and it only now dawned on him that he had not used his voice recently enough for it to sound even remotely normal.

He heard a concerned hum from someone else in the background—it was most likely Phil, he's been worrying about him a lot lately. Tuning back into the conversation, he realised that he hadn’t been listening at all and only caught the tail-end of what Tommy had said next. 

“Sorry what?” Wilbur asked, moving to rest his head in his hands. This was proving more difficult than he previously thought.

“I asked if you were okay, but I think you just answered. You feelin’ alright Wilbur?”

His concern made Wilbur's heart melt just a little but it didn’t ease the sick feeling settling deep in his gut, or the suffocating pressure on the bottom of his ribcage. He made a noncommittal grunt, knowing the boy would not appreciate the full answer.

“You must know that that doesn’t really install confidence mate.”

There was Phil. Wilbur knew he would show up at some point.

He didn’t want them to worry about him though, they had enough on their plates already. Even more now with the fact that they were going to have to reschedule the recording. He took a deep breath. God why does he have to mess everything up?

“I’m really sorry Tommy, but I'm not really feeling up to recording tonight,” he murmured, before realising that it probably made him sound like a dick who just couldn’t be bothered. He searched his scrambled brain for a few seconds before hastily backtracking. “You can do it without me though! I don’t want to mess up your plans or whatever.”

“Will, are you kidding me? We’re not gonna record without you, that'd be no fun!”

He knew Tommy would have a reaction like that. The kid was always striving to make everyone feel welcome, especially his friends.

“Yeah man, don’t worry about it. We can record some other time when you're feeling better.”

And there was Charlie. It was nice to know his friends cared about him, even if he was a bit difficult to deal with at the moment.

“Have you eaten yet Will?” Now, you would think after Wilbur's nonstop problems he would get tired of looking after him all the time, but Tommy still had a seemingly never-ending concern for his health.

“Yeah I had something earlier,” Wilbur replied, moving to rest his chin on his palm. “I'm probably just gonna head to bed if that’s alright with you lot.”

“Course its fine Wilbur. Make sure you're drinking lots of water, okay?”

“Roger that old man, bye you lot.”

“Bye Will, talk to you later!”

“Bye mate.”

“Get some sleep big man!”

As the disconnect sound filtered through his headphones, Wilbur caught himself smiling. Don’t get him wrong—he still felt like a raging dumpster fire—but as he reached for his glass of slightly stale tasting water with shaking hands, he felt the tiniest bit better.

* * *

Coming back into consciousness was always a strange sensation.

He wasn’t aware of much, just a few things in the back of his mind.

He could tell he was on the floor. The wood was pressed awkwardly into his back and his legs were sprawled at strange angles beneath him. It didn’t hurt though, as he couldn’t really feel them. The only sensation he could feel was a faint tingling in his hands and feet. His head was pounding as well. In fact, there were a lot of places all around his body that hurt.

He couldn’t conjure up a reason for that at the moment, his brain felt like slop. It felt as if he was just drifting in space, devoid of any purpose or feeling. He could probably ground himself to reality if he opened his eyes, but he didn’t want to. He was too tired. The lights were probably too bright as well; he found that they always were nowadays. 

He could hear and feel things moving around him—woodlice probably, but they sounded heavier? —but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. The sounds were all blending into background noise that was only slightly too loud to be comfortable. It felt like his ears were filled with cotton. Everything felt uncomfortable.

It didn’t help that today was one of the hottest days of the year so far, in fact that probably contributed to why he was laid on the floor. Every cell in his body was burning and Wilbur was really starting to question his choice of fashion. Long sleeved sweaters in summer? God he's an idiot. An unbearably warm idiot.

Suddenly something cut the haze, something cold. A cool hand cupped his cheek, tapping it a couple times for good measure. Distantly, Wilbur could hear some sort of sound. A weird alien sound that he couldn’t quite distinguish. Like if someone placed a Bluetooth speaker underwater.

Another cool hand felt around the back of his head, as if it was searching for something, and _nope_ Wilbur wasn’t a fan of this. The stark contrast of hot and cold was uncomfortable and the hands were ever so gently turning his head to the side which made him feel like he was falling into the floor. He wanted nothing more than for the hands to retreat and leave him alone but they were persistent, going back to tapping his cheek when he tried to move away.

The strange sound returned alongside their assault, albeit clearer this time. Less like some alien language he doesn’t know and more like something he recognises. Or someone?

Now that he thought about it, he had definitely heard that voice before, and the sounds? That was his name? They were saying his name? Oh, they were saying his name. He should probably at least try to listen if they're talking to him.

Scrunching his face up, Wilbur slowly opened his eyes. He was pleasantly surprised not to be immediately blinded by the light above him and instead to be met by the face of Matt. He seemed to notice that Wilbur was awake as his eyes filled with relief, smiling wearily.

“Hey, you okay?” Wilbur looked up at the other as he felt him reach to brush the brunets fringe out of his eyes.

“Wha’ hap’nd?” he slurred, finally taking stock of his surroundings. It looked like he was on the floor in the hallway between his and David's rooms.

Matt’s hand stilled where it was combing through his hair gently and Wilbur could practically taste the concern radiating off him. “You passed out at the top of the stairs—fell all the way down. Heard you from the kitchen.”

“Oh.” Wilbur thought about that for a second before replying. “S’not great.”

“No, it’s not,” Matt agreed, shifting slightly until he was sitting on the floor next to his head instead of crouching. “Do you wanna go to the hospital?”

Wilbur really didn’t have to think about that one.

“No. I’ll be fine, help me sit up?”

Matt huffed before grabbing his friend under the arms, pulling him up to lean on the wall.

And maybe that wasn’t the smartest decision of Wilbur's part, as, the moment he felt himself leave the floor, he felt like he was going to throw up. It was almost like an out of body experience. As soon as his back hit the wall behind him, his conscious mind seemed to leave him, completely tuning out whatever Matt said next.

The other seemed to notice this as he stopped what he was saying to look over at Will, just as the other man started tipping sideways, back towards the floor. He startled, reaching out to catch him before he could give himself any more potential brain damage.

“Woah! Ok, don’t go back down. Just” —he moved so he was sat next to Wilbur against the wall, the other man leaning on him— “yeah ok, we’ll just sit here for a bit.”

Wilbur blinked languidly, trying to process the chain of events that just unfolded. “Sorry.”

“You're fine, don’t worry about it.”

Matt reached for Wilbur's hand, pressing two fingers against the inside of his wrist. Brows furrowed at how fast the other’s pulse was, he rubbed small circles into his wrist, trying to reassure him.

Wilbur took a deep breath, leaning his head on Matt's shoulder. If it had been any other time, he probably would have gone to the hospital. Unfortunately, at the moment, his fear of covid far outweighed anything else. He also wasn’t looking forward to moving anytime soon, so for now, he was content to just sit on the floor at the foot of his stairs with one of his friends.

* * *

Wilbur was not having a good day.

There were a couple contributors to this fact, but they all pretty much boiled down to one point. Firstly, when he woke up this morning to an empty Advil bottle in his medicine cupboard, he was forced to go outside the comfort of his flat to get some more. So not only did he have no Advil, he also had to brave the dangers of the outside world. And even if he didn’t see that many people on his short journey, he couldn’t count the amount of people not wearing masks on just one hand. It was frustrating to say the least.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the fact that he had to stand for a whole bus ride. He hadn’t wanted to take his car and be a risk on the road so he decided that he would put up with public transport for the day. It was fine on the way there; he managed to snag himself a single seat near the front of the bus and nobody bothered him.

The way back was a completely different story.

It had been a fairly successful yet completely miserable shopping trip. While he found the Advil fine, and even picked up some stuff for dinner tonight, the fluorescent lights burned Wilbur's eyes after about five minutes in the store. Standing in the queue for check out was painful as well, with Wilbur spending most of his time swaying on his feet just wishing he could sit down.

Which, of course, he didn’t get to do when he got on the bus to go home.

All of the seats were already full, because why wouldn't they be? The people sat in the priority seats were very obviously elderly so he couldn’t do anything there, and he was way too awkward to ask someone to give up their seat for him. So he was left to hold onto one of the support poles for dear life. He would have to wash and double wash his hands when he got home, after holding a dirty bus pole for a whole twenty minutes but that was a sacrifice he would have to make.

By the time he dragged himself through his front door he was about ready to drop dead on his feet. He didn’t, though, because he was a responsible adult who looked after his health (as much as it didn’t feel like it at times). After everything, including himself, was cleaned and he’d finally taken some godforsaken Advil he staggered his way through to the living room and flopped himself face first on the sofa. He was only slightly on top of David, who was looking at something on his phone, but the other male didn’t seem to mind—simply moving to get more comfortable.

“Did you get what you went out for?”

Wilbur's hum in reply was muffled by the sofa cushions but David appeared to get the message, letting him breathe for a minute before attempting conversation again.

“You still wanna stream later? I know you had something planned.”

Wilbur thought about it for a second. He wasn’t feeling the best right now, but the stream wasn’t until the evening so he'd most likely be fine. “Mhn, probably. What time is it?”

David looked back to his phone before replying. “About four, when’s your stream start?”

“Like nine? I'm not sure, not for a while at least.”

They stayed like that for a while, a comfortable silence falling over them as they idly watched the youtube videos that were put on the tv. At some point Wilbur moved so his legs were propped up on a cushion in a vain attempt to get his heart rate under control. It didn’t really work—but it did enough that by the time the stream rolled around he was feeling pretty okay. 

The stream went surprisingly well, even if it was just a jackbox stream. The group Quackity had managed to cobble together meshed nicely, and Wilbur found himself too distracted to think about much more than the things happening on his screen.

Despite that, now that they were finishing up Wilbur began to feel the vertigo kicking in again. It was manageable, still throughout the course of the last game he felt himself speaking up less and less, good thing they weren't playing Talking points he supposed. He didn’t want to say it was a relief when Quackity deafened to end his stream, but it certainly took a weight off of his chest.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of various conversations and goodbyes filter through his ears. The voices seemed to lull out a bit until Wilbur could hear someone calling his name.

“Wilbur? You still there?” It was Dream.

He looked up at his monitor displaying the details of the discord call. Only him, Dream, Niki and Jack remained—with everyone else having gone to do other things.

“Yeah I'm still here, what's up?”

“Just checking. We’re gonna mess around on the smp for a while if you want to join us. You sounded pretty tired when we were ending though so we won’t be offended if you just wanna sleep or whatever.” 

As much as the offer of rest sounded appealing, Wilbur genuinely enjoyed talking to his friends. His shitty day had gotten significantly less shitty after being in call with them, even if it was just for a stream.

“Nah, I’ll join you. It’s not like I could sleep even if I wanted to,” Wilbur answered, shuffling forward in his chair so he could rest his hands back on his keyboard.

The idle conversation started up again as Wilbur started up minecraft, casually moving from topic to topic. Wilbur piped up here and there, until eventually the subject of discussion turned to the one subject he was only slightly dreading, his health.

“How’ve you been, by the way Will?”

The question in itself was innocent enough, even if it made Wilbur's hands start to shake a little bit. Though, being honest, that could have been because of completely separate reasons.

“Uh, yeah- I've been… managing, I suppose.” Wilbur only realised after speaking that that probably wasn’t very reassuring but it wasn’t like he could add anything else that made it sound any better. “Quarantine’s been hard.”

“Yeah I get it, it’s a shitty situation,” Jack’s voice filtered through Wilbur's headphones. “But hey man, if you ever want to talk, I'm here.”

“Same for me! Its always nice to talk to you Will!”

God, Wilbur loved his friends.

So maybe that was why he stayed playing minecraft with them longer than he probably should have. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, at least it wasn’t until he got _really_ dizzy out of _nowhere._ He took his hands off of the keyboard and mouse and used them to hold up his head, which had gotten heavy all of a sudden.

Of course, this meant his minecraft character was no longer moving around, clueing his friends into the fact that something was wrong. He could hear muffled questions but they weren’t quite processing properly—as if his brain was shutting down. It felt like it at least.

His friends’ calls of his name only got more concerned as time moved on so he figured he would probably have to answer.

“Sorry I’m- I'm not feeling great.” And then after a moment’s hesitation, “I might pass out.”

“Oh, okay! Do you wanna go lie down?”

Dream sounded a lot calmer than Wilbur expected him to be, to be honest. And lying down did seem like a good idea at the moment. There was just the slight issue of—

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“Don’t worry about it then, we can mnghf ndajn...”

The rest of Dream’s sentence went right past Wilbur as his head dropped even further into his hands. He was glad Dream was taking control of the situation, even if he couldn’t really understand what he was saying. Something about staying on a call? Wilbur wasn’t sure. He just listened to whatever he was on about until he slumped completely in his chair and his head hit his desk with a rather loud thud.

The other people in the call didn’t know what to do. None of them were anywhere near Wilbur, they couldn’t help him. It was painful to just sit in that discord call knowing their friend was suffering at the other end of it. So they settled for what they could do, fighting the mobs that tried to attack their afk friend. With each zombie that was struck down by Dream’s axe, he wished he could do the same to the actual problems in Wilbur's life.

* * *

Hospital food tasted like shit. That was the conclusion Wilbur had come to.

It was almost like they wanted their patients to stay sick, at least that was the impression it gave off. Wilbur is still, to this day, yet to understand how a meal can be so bland and so disgusting at the same time. He supposes it’s probably the texture. Most of the stuff was the same texture, which was a surprise based on the variety of foods they served. It was all slightly overcooked, mushy and stuck to the roof of your mouth if you ate too big a bite at once. All in all, a pretty bad review form someone who can’t even taste anything.

There weren’t many things in a hospital he could give a good review of. I mean sure, he wasn’t dead, but you would assume that would have to be the bare minimum. The lights were always way too bright; amplified by the spotless white walls it was just a perfect recipe for a constant headache. The overpowering chemical scent only made this worse, artificial lemon making the walls swim.

The hospital gown was uncomfortable as well, pretty much everything was in this dastardly place; the needles stuck in both his arms tugged weirdly when he moved; the pillows were so flat they were practically just empty sheets; the oxygen cannula itched his nose while doing nothing to relive the aching pressure on his ribs. Worst of all, he was here alone.

Due to covid regulations, no visitors were allowed. Period.

It was scary enough being in the hospital in a pandemic, let alone being cut off from his friends while the doctors run the tests that were _so important that they couldn’t wait._

But it was fine, he was fine.

Ok, so maybe the MRI was a little terrifying. Wilbur had spent the whole time terrified to move even the tinniest amount and fuck up the entire thing, too anxious to even focus on the shitty pop music they had kindly put on for him.

And maybe he was starting to suspect that at least one of the doctors was a vampire because, come on. Why did they need that much of his blood? What are they doing with it? Surely it was just the same as the stuff they took out of him yesterday.

And maybe _just maybe_ he was starting to go a little crazy stuck in his uncomfortable hospital bed for well over four days now. He was an extrovert by nature, revelling in the accompaniment of others, and currently no one would touch him with a ten-foot pole (six feet technically).

So, he was left with just himself for company. At least they let him have his phone; he wasn’t completely alone. His friends were all trying to keep his sprits up, in their own ways of course. Knowing his friends that included a variety of things from light hearted well wishes, to cat pictures and general insults. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

His phone buzzing somewhere near his hand brought him out of his thoughts. Reaching blindly for the damn thing he pulled it closer to his face to reveal a discord notification from Techno. He felt himself smile, opening the app to reply.

**_Direct Messages_ **

_pig fucker-_ hey

_pig fucker-_ how’s it going 

_wiblur-_ eh

 _wiblur-_ could be worse

 _wiblur-_ I'm starting to think they're going to keep me here forever

 _pig fucker-_ maybe they mistook you for a lab rat

 _wiblur-_ that feels vaguely like an insult

 _pig fucker-_ you got rat hair I don’t know what to tell you

Wilbur chuckled at that, falling into a comfortable conversation with the other. Trust Techno to insult him while he was wasting away in a miserable hospital bed. But as he settled back into his shitty bed, he realised he would have wanted anything else.

* * *

When Tommy finally managed to convince his dad to let him come to Brighton he was ecstatic, which was probably the reason that Wilbur didn’t want to ruin the day for him. They had gone to the arcade earlier—Tommy acquiring himself a multitude of items to torment the others with. He decided to spice up his methods of torment however, stealing Wilbur's wallet to break into his office. After locating him and practically dragging him out of the door, Wilbur and Tommy (accompanied by David) set out on the not so long walk back to the former's apartment.

The look on Tommy's face was so stupidly happy as he rambled on about something or other that Wilbur felt almost guilty for feeling shitty at the moment. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really something he could control and _god_ was it getting worse the longer they walked.

The wind whistling in his ears was giving him a pounding headache, each heavy footstep against the pavement echoing through his skull. The bright sunlight was hurting his eyes, making everything seem blurry as he watched the smile splitting Tommy's windbitten face. He was somewhat aware of David walking maybe a little closer to him then he probably had to, he wasn’t complaining though. He really didn’t want to fall on his face.

Getting up the stairs was a struggle but he really didn’t want to worry Tommy or anything. The kid had been so excited to meet up with him and in all likelihood would not appreciate him keeling over in front of him.

Against all odds, they made it into the apartment with no hitches, with Wilbur immediately slumping down on the sofa next to Phil, feigning his exhaustion for exasperation.

The day continued as normal; the chaos having died down a bit as they filled the living room with animated conversations. Wilbur had been looking forward to this day for weeks, if not months, and now that it was here he found himself not even worried about his health for a couple hours. It was great.

Although, not being worried about what his shitty body was brewing up also meant he wasn’t taking as good care of it as he should’ve been. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had drank any water and he was starting to regret making that choice. At the very least, they were ordering food soon—pizza he was fairly sure—so he could get something in his system.

He heard Matt call his name from the kitchen so he stood up to go see what he wanted, probably something to do with the order. Or, he stood up. He didn’t get much further than that as he felt all the blood flush from his head, making his ears go cold in a second. He stretched his hand out behind him to steady himself but found nothing of purchase within his immediate vicinity. To put it simply, he was fucked. He heard some vague shout of alarm before everything went completely dark.

When Phil watched Wilbur stand up next to him, he didn’t expect him to instantly collapse as soon as he got to his feet. He barely had time to stand up to catch him before he was slumping against his chest and Phil's knees were buckling under the extra weight.

He lowered the both of them to the ground as slowly as he could, hearing people get up all across the room to gather around them on the floor. He paid them no mind however, shifting Wilbur until he was cradled in his arms securely, head lolled against his chest. Phil tried calling his name, tried shaking him a little, but no matter what he did the other would not stir. Not even remotely.

He looked up at David, who was crouched beside the two for some sort of assistance. Noticing his distress the other man reached to check Wilbur's pulse, pulling his limp wrist into his lap.

“He's ok,” he reassured gently. “He just needs a minute.”

Phil calmed down slightly at that, though it was hard to feel completely at ease. Wilbur's shallow breaths were tickling his neck, making him oh so very aware of just how rapid they were. His eyelids were fluttering faintly—though staying firmly shut—and Phil could see the whites off his rolled back eyes.

There wasn’t much they could do for him though, and the panic over the situation cooled the smallest of amounts. People moved back to their original places on the sofas, with David staying on the floor next to him, softly trying to pull Will back to the land of the living. Kristen went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and placed it carefully next to Phil upon her return, taking his vacated spot behind them on the sofa.

The sight of Wilbur's limp hand, which had since slid out of David's lap and into the floor, was what stuck with him the most. A hand once used so animatedly, constantly flying around throughout wild stories and grand ideas sat uselessly on the floor. Something about it was just wrong.

Which was probably why it caught him off guard when it suddenly jumped into action. Tumbling clumsily towards the brunet's face and the gentle hands tapping on his cheek. David caught Wilbur's hand before he could hit himself in the face, calling his name to try and rouse him.

Wilbur's eyes scrunched up before blinking open a couple of times, looking thoroughly out of it. He made a small sound of questioning at the back of his throat, shifting his head to look up slightly. David jumped to hold his head up when it moved too far back for his weak neck to support.

“Don’t try and move around too much, you just passed out.”

Wilbur closed his eyes again, settling further into Phil's arms before it registered that he was in someone's arms in the first place. His eyes blinked open in confusion, morphing into some unreadable emotion upon recognising Phil's t-shirt.

“Phil?” he asked weakly, shifting slightly to look up at him.

“Hey mate,” Phil smiled in return, brushing Wilbur's unruly fringe out of his face. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

And he was.

It took him a minute to move to sit up, deciding that staying on the floor was his best bet. He reassured Tommy when the boy kneeled down in front of him looking somewhat scared, no matter how much the younger would deny it when teased about it later. He ate his pizza when it came, feeling significantly better after eating, before he settled tiredly against Phil's side. He could feel Kristen's hand in his hair, gently lulling him to sleep. So he let himself rest, because he was fine. He was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the wait was so long for this one !! i had to actually go _into_ the school building the other day, so i missed an entire day of writing. i hope the fact it's 3 times as long as the others makes up for it <3
> 
> just a side note as well: if anyone wants to request soothouse centric oneshots i'd try my hand at those as well
> 
> also feel free to comment prompts as many times as you want, i'm happy for any requests :]
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	5. Urgent care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having people willing to look after him is a luxury Wilbur will have to get used to, it seemed. [IRL fic]
> 
> Request from OppsieDasi: Can you pretty please write one about Wilbur being stubborn because he is Not Sick. Not At All.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after this one and the one previous you might notice that i have a weak spot for hospitals haha
> 
> Cw: emetophobia, hospitals

Phil’s new house was nice.

It had a certain atmosphere to it, one that Wilbur didn’t quite know how to explain. The walls were all nice colours, working well with the furniture he and Kristen had picked out to go with them. The fireplace was a nice touch as well, filling the living room with a sense of warmth that was hard to come across. He guessed the only was he could describe it was homely. A safe place with people you cared for.

But Wilbur wasn’t about to unpack all of that, so we’re sticking with nice.

It was comfortable as well, in all of the best ways.

The three of them were staying over for Christmas—with Tommy having convinced his parents since they were away on a business meeting over the holiday and Techno having booked a flight—and so far, Wilbur was loving it. They had all arrived at various points of the day before, choosing to do nothing but laze around for the rest of the day. Techno had a valid reason, as he had just gotten off of a nine-hour flight, but Wilbur and Tommy had stayed up talking in a vc into the early hours of the morning the night before; they were both too excited to sleep.

The sleepy energy had continued into the majority of today, with no one really doing much more than lie around—it was very on brand for them. It was also very on brand when Tommy loudly declared that he was bored and they were watching Up. It was so in character even, that none of them had the spirit to argue with him.

So they settled into their spots scattered around the living room, throwing popcorn at each other at varying intervals. They were five minutes into the start of the film and _no,_ Wilbur was not crying. He was just tired, even if he hadn’t done anything all day. 

He struggled to blink his eyes back open after they had slipped shut for longer than what you could viably call a blink. There was no way that he was going to fall asleep on Philza Minecraft’s sofa. If wasn’t gonna happen. That right was reserved for the old man himself in all of his old man ways.

Alas, the sofa he was curled up at the end of was just too comfortable that he felt himself starting to drift off, even if it wasn’t that late into the evening. The blanket that he had wrapped himself in was incredibly soft: it was keeping him warm in all the best of ways. So, as much as he tried to fight it, Wilbur was fast asleep by the time they were an hour in.

Tommy noticed after about twenty minutes, because of course he did. If only by the fact that the elder’s feet were slipping onto his half of the sofa they were supposed to be sharing. He had tried shoving the invading feet with his own, in an attempt to get them to retreat back over the crease in the cushions, but to no avail. Eventually, he huffed, calling out Wilbur's name into the otherwise quiet living room.

“Wilbur, move your feet off me!”

No reply. Tommy was about to start stabbin’ shit.

Just as Tommy was about to forcefully remove Wilbur's feet, and the man himself probably, from the sofa he was interrupted by Techno's quiet grumble.

“I think he's asleep Tommy.”

That caught his attention, as well as everyone else’s in the room. Leaning further forward Tommy took note of Wilbur's peaceful face, evidently unbothered by the fact he was currently taking up over half the sofa. And if that didn’t piss him off Tommy wasn’t sure what would.

It seemed that Phil clocked onto any devious plans he had come up with before he had the chance to put them into action though, as he heard his voice break the quiet atmosphere next.

“Leave him be Tommy, the films almost done anyways.”

Tommy sulked quietly for a further couple of minutes before deciding he was too tired to put that much emotion into something; he could be dramatic in the morning.

By the time the finishing credits were scrolling across the tv screen everyone was pretty ready to turn in for the night. Techno said his goodnights as he made his way in the direction of the room he was staying in. Kristen turning off the tv before heading the same way, dragging a tired Tommy along with her, leaving Phil alone in the room to wake Wilbur up.

He crouched down by the younger’s head, shaking his shoulder carefully. Wilbur stirred after only a little bit of coaxing, moving sluggishly to sit up on the sofa—still somehow wrapped in his blanket.

“Hey, we’re all heading to bed if you want to join us. You can always sleep on the sofa if you’d prefer though.”

Wilbur shook his head silently, standing up and stepping clear of Phil, headed in the direction of his slightly lumpy mattress in the next room. Phil caught his wrist before he could completely disappear, causing him to halt in his shuffle towards the door and turn to look at the other man.

“You feeling alright mate? You fell asleep pretty fast there,” he chuckled, releasing his wrist so he could fix the blanket that was falling off his shoulders.

“Yeah, I'm jus’ tired,” he replied, running his hand down his face. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Get some sleep then Will. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Phil didn’t get much of a reply to that one, just a small hum as the other continued towards his room. 

He’ll take it.

* * *

Wilbur was evidently _not_ fine in the morning.

His throat was scratchy, making him just about desperate for a glass of water. His head was pounding as well, pulsing against his skull like a creature was trying to escape from his brain. It wasn’t a big deal though; he'd just chug some water and get on with his day. He was probably just dehydrated.

A quick glance at his phone told him that it was around nine, which was reasonable. It also showed him that perhaps his headache would be a bigger problem than previously anticipated, as the bright light from his phone screen made him want to throw the device against a wall. He didn’t, though. He simply got out of bed. Or, he got up off of the floor and left the uncomfortable mattress far behind him. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping tonight.

Making his way to the kitchen, he realised he wasn’t actually that hungry and the thought of eating anything made a sick feeling settle into the bottom of his stomach.

Most of the other were already in the kitchen when he arrived, with the exception of Techno. Phil and Kristen were fondly watching Tommy ramble on (he had far too much energy this early in the morning if you asked Wilbur) with only slightly exasperated looks. The all looked up at him when he entered and he saw the two adults’ faces morph into something reminiscent of concern.

“You okay there, Wilbur?”

He stopped walking when he reached the kitchen counters, leaning back on the one behind him. “Didn’t sleep that great last night,” he remarked, stopping to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Your mattress is shit.”

Kristen chuckled before sliding a coffee across the counter towards him. “Take this as an apology then.”

Wilbur accepted the mug with a grateful smile, lifting it up to take a much-needed sip. He could almost feel the tiredness melting away as he got further and further into his drink, Techno emerging when he was about two thirds though it.

With the hopeful prospect the caffeine was giving him, he was sure he would be feeling fine by the time they were set to record a video, sometime in the afternoon if he recalled correctly.

Wilbur was in fact, wrong about that as well. Huh, he was on roll today.

By the time lunch rolled around, he had expected himself to feel at least a little bit hungry—he had skipped breakfast after all. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself to want anything. Everything just made his stomach turn in discomfort. He suspected that Phil was cottoning on to his dilemma as Wilbur could feel his level stare lock onto the back of his head every so often. He also couldn’t bring himself to care, however, so he just let it happen.

He heard some shuffling from behind him before a voice join the sounds of freezer drawers being pushed shut.

“D’you want some soup Wilbur?”

Phil sounded vaguely distracted, as if he was searching for something, but Wilbur could still hear the undertones of concern still prevalent. The thought crossed hid mind that the elder was offering soup in a ploy to get him to admit to being sick, but he didn’t hear any malice in Phil's voice. He wasn’t sick anyway. Either way, he mumbled an affirmative before reaching for his half empty glass of water.

He could still feel Phil's eyes on him as he waited for the soup to heat up and Wilbur just wished he would say what he was thinking instead of being all secretive about it.

It seemed someone somewhere had heard his prayers as Phil moved to open a cupboard to the left of him, reaching into it for something Wilbur couldn’t quite see. When he turned back around he had a bottle of Advil in his hand, placing it next to Wilbur's glass—which was almost empty at this point.

“Have some drugs, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Phil. I am really feeling the love and support in the kitchen today.”

Phil sighed fondly from where he was pouring the now hot soup into a bowl, picking it up and placing it also in front of Wilbur on the table.

“Take your meds, eat your soup, try not to die. I'm gonna set up the shit for the video.”

Phil ruffled his hair as he made his way out of the kitchen, just to be annoying. It clearly worked, the bastard knew it as well, trying to hide his smile as he made his way down the hall. Wilbur caved and picked up the spoon put out for him, trying not to feel even worse with the thought that Phil had gone to the effort to make soup for him.

That feeling of guilt persisted throughout the day, as his friends kept feeling the need to look after him.

First, with Techno just _handing_ him glasses of water throughout the day. He never asked for water at any point; it just kept appearing in his hands. At this rate he could no longer make the argument of dehydration for his ongoing headache, which was unfortunate, as everyone felt the need to ask him if he was feeling alright every twenty minutes.

It got worse when they actually started recording, just some dumb game that Tommy had come up with. It wouldn’t really matter what they did in the video to be honest, the fans were desperate for any content involving the four.

Which is why Wilbur didn’t want to stop the recording, even if he was asked if he wanted to more times than he could count. It wasn’t important if he felt like shit, he had a job to do.

Eventually, the camera had recorded enough footage of the four messing around to make a decently long video. Of course, Tommy—or whoever was editing—would have to cut out all the times Wilbur did nothing but stare into space for a few minutes, only to jump back into awareness when his name was called. Or the times they had to stop because he was in the process of hacking a lung out, Tommy slapping his back with a little bit too much force than was really necessary. Wilbur appreciated it though, even if it was excessive.

They moved back to the living room after finishing up, with Phil going to help Kristen with making dinner. Wilbur pointedly ignore the worried looks he got when he didn’t do much more than push it around his plate once it was ready. He just wasn’t that hungry; it wasn’t a big deal.

It was only slightly irritating that the other occupants of the house seemed to disagree with him. Their constant nervous glances made him think that they were just babying him—it wasn’t as if they were doing anything that required a lot of energy; they were literally just watching some cheesy Netflix film. Wilbur was kind of grateful however, as he didn’t think he could do much more than that at the moment. The day had seemed to drag on forever, his friends badly concealed fretting only getting more and more exhausting the later in the day they got. He didn’t need them to look after him. He was fine.

He was forcefully dragged from his internal monologue by a hand gently placed on his forehead. Maye it was a little cooler than it should have felt, but Wilbur didn’t allow himself to dwell on it as he looked to his left to meet Kristen's eyes. She looked troubled.

“You're a little warm,” she murmured, moving to place her hand on his cheek instead. “Are you sure you're feeling alright, Will?”

Wilbur moved his face away from her hand—only missing the contact a little—as he forced a smile that he hoped wasn’t anywhere close to the grimace he was expecting.

“I’m fine,” he reassured, brushing off her hand and hopefully her concerns at the same time. “You guys don’t need to be so worried about me.”

That seemed to appease them for the rest of the night, sideways glances getting less and less frequent as everyone got more and more tired. By the time it reached midnight Tommy was practically asleep on top of him and Wilbur didn’t think he was that far off himself.

He hadn’t expected to have to carry a sleeping Tommy to bed but one look at the teen and it wasn’t that surprising. All in all, Wilbur didn’t think anything else could catch him off guard—he would wake up in the morning feeling perfectly fine and everything would be great.

* * *

Well, he was three for three.

Firstly, it wasn’t morning. Or, it technically was, he wasn’t sure if three am counted.

Secondly, he was not feeling fine. In fact, he was the furthest away from perfectly fine he thinks he will ever get.

He had woken up in the middle of the night, not all that long after he had finally fallen asleep on the mattress from hell. He wasn’t sure why he had woken up when he first came back to consciousness, he wasn’t that sure of anything at that point. Everything was on fire and he could see the ceiling swimming above him. This issue quickly made itself known, clawing its way up his throat and _oh-_

_He was gonna puke._

He barely made it to the bathroom before he lost the few slices of pizza he had eaten earlier, not bothering to turn on the light or even lock the door behind him in his haste. The cold porcelain pressed awkwardly into his chest but it was nice against his burning skin so he couldn’t really complain. The t-shirt sticking to his back with sweat was uncomfortable and he was sure that someone was repeatedly stabbing him with the pain he felt in his stomach.

So yeah, everything wasn’t great.

The bathroom light flickering on startled him so much that he was pretty sure he audibly groaned, he wasn’t quite sure as the room was soon filled with the sound of water sloshing again.

He could feel a shockingly cold hand rubbing circles on his back; another sensation to add to the list that was quickly overwhelming him with its sheer quantity. The lights were way too bright, burning into the back of his eyes even with them closed. He could feel his throat burn from where the acid has passed up it, giving next to no warning when another wave appeared.

His ears were met with soft reassurances when they cleared from the sound of rushing blood. He could hear some other voice in the background so he turned his head sluggishly—still resting on the toilet seat—so he could see what was going on. He was greeted by the sight of Phil stood in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. He could also tell that it was Kristen beside him on the floor, which wasn’t the best. She had already done so much for him. He could deal with this by himself.

Phil didn’t seem to share that opinion, stepping closer to hand him a glass of water. It was in a plastic cup, something him and his incredibly shaky hands were thankful for at the moment, even if it made him feel like a child.

As Phil stepped back to his spot by the door Wilbur could see some other human like shape behind him. 

Oh great. It seemed everyone was here to join the party.

He couldn’t bring himself to care for much longer as he leant back over the toilet to lose whatever water he had just ingested. When he was finished gentle hands tried to coax him to drink some more but he just threw it back up a couple minutes later.

The vicious cycle continued for almost another hour and everyone was beyond concerned. Tommy was stubbornly staying awake in case he was needed, even if he looked as if he would fall asleep at any second. Techno had taken to anxious pacing around ten minutes ago and both Phil and Kristen were desperately trying to help Wilbur.

The man in question wasn't doing too hot.

Even after all the water he had been virtually force fed the day before, he was severely dehydrated. He couldn’t manage to keep anything down for more than five minutes, so no water or medicine would do anything. Phil had moved to sit beside him on the floor as he had almost faceplanted a couple of times already. 

Phil could feel the overwhelming heat radiating off of the other without having to even touch him, being near him was enough to tell that this was bad.

He could tell Kristen had the same point of view from the look in her eyes when she returned with a cool cloth. Wilbur had warmed the other one up far faster than either of them had expected; any attempts to bring down his fever had gone pretty similarly to be honest. She passed the cloth to Phil, who placed it on the back of the youngers neck with care, turning back to look at his wife.

“What do you think we should do?”

Kristen considered the question for a second, but it seemed she had already decided an answer before he had even asked.

“I wanna take him to urgent care—he can’t keep anything down.”

She made a valid argument, although Phil didn’t need that much convincing. He reached over to shake Wilbur as he tried to get the other’s attention, wincing at the solid couple of seconds it took his hazy eyes to focus on him.

“Hey, you think you can stand? Were gonna go to the nearest urgent care,” he asked carefully, helping the younger sit up so he wasn’t slumped against the toilet.

Wilbur made a sound of protest in return, almost toppling sideways onto the floor before Phil caught him.

“Come on mate, don’t make me carry you,” he tried to joke, getting to his feet and reaching down for Wilbur's hands to help him up.

Wilbur got to his feet unsteadily, having to be supported by Phil lest he fall straight back down. Kristen appeared back in the hallway with a bucket and Techno, who immediately moved to support Wilbur's other side. It was slow going, but eventually they did manage to get the taller into the front seat of the car, even if he protested the entire way there.

Wilbur slipped in and out of consciousness most of the way, closing his eyes and opening them to a busy waiting room. He could feel someone's jacket draped over him like a blanket and the strange sensation of a needle in his forearm. He was also fairly sure his head was rested on someone's shoulder, their arm feeling like water to a burn on the side of his face. 

He blinked again and he was lying on a bed, a needle sticking out of both arms and a hand held softly in his own. He looked up at the figure sat in the chair next to him to see the tired eyes of Techno, creases forming at the edge of them upon seeing him awake. Neither of them spoke; they didn’t need to. Techno just gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he felt his consciousness slip further away from him, comforted by the fact that Techno would be next to him when he woke up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't have the energy to check this more than one time so sorry for any mistakes :]
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	6. Creeps on the Subway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many reasons one might hate public transport, Wilbur wasn't expecting this to be one. [IRL fic]
> 
> Request from hello!!: If you don't mind writing A/B/O, would you consider writing some platonic A/B/O with omega Wilbur and protective SBI, set IRL? <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! this is PLATONIC a/b/o so if that's not your thing feel free to skip this one :]
> 
> Cw: sexual harassment ? i guess? it's really nothing serious

Wilbur had always hated public transport, and with good reason.

It always stank, that part would have been obvious even if he didn’t have an enhanced sense of smell. The seats on the bus never seemed to be clean—they were always covered in some mysterious stain that Wilbur wouldn’t even touch with a long stick. The tube was arguable worse, but for entirely different reasons.

As an omega, Wilbur was particularly sensitive to having scents on him that didn’t belong to his pack. It made him feel dirty, causing him to scrub himself raw in the shower for hours whenever it happened. Unfortunately, the tube contained enough people compressed in such a small space that it was almost impossible to come off of a car not smelling at least faintly of someone else. It was horrible.

Although today, Wilbur had no other choice but to settle for the tube. It was too late to catch a bus—he had missed the last one going anywhere near his house—and he wasn’t keen to walk home in the pouring rain and get himself sick. The tube was just the lesser of two evils.

He was only slightly regretting his decision as he stood pressed up against about four people. He could practically feel the scents rubbing off on him more and more the longer he stayed sandwiched between them. It comforted him somewhat that his primary scent glands, placed at the base of his neck, were so high above the crowd. Pros of being tall he supposed.

It didn’t make him any the more comfortable when an alpha even taller than him got on the tube car about three stops from his, or when he chose to stand way closer to him than was really necessary. But it was whatever, he could live with it for the twenty something minutes until he reached his stop. Hopefully the other man got off before then anyway.

The other man did not get off before his stop. If anything, he made the ten minutes that had passed as awkwardly uncomfortable as possible. Wilbur wondered if he was doing it on purpose, and it was hard to think anything but when the man leaned even closer and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Wilbur tried to discreetly shrug it off, not wanting to cause a scene, but it was hard to do in the limited space he had. Even harder when he felt the grimy nails of the offending appendage dig into the fabric of his jacket.

Mind racing, Wilbur tried to think of anything he could do to get away from this creep. Fast. His stop wasn’t until _after_ the one they were approaching, leaving him no choice but to just wait it out and hope the guy wouldn’t follow him when they did eventually reach his desired location. He could always call Phil to pick him up from the station, or even just call him to try and scare the guy off if the situation called for it.

All logical thought about how to resolve the predicament he had found himself in left him as he felt the man lean into his neck. He panicked, trying desperately to squirm away but the other had a firm grip on the back of his jacket. He could smell his scent begin to turn sour but couldn’t bring himself to care as a cold cheek met the side of his neck. 

Fuck.

He fucking scented him.

What the fuck.

Wilbur wanted to cry. He really wished he had just taken the chance of major illness and walked the whole distance back to his flat in the rain now. Anything would be better than this.

He couldn’t think clearly, thoughts melting together in his pure fear. Distantly he recognised that the tube was coming to a stop, doors opening with a rush of cool air. Without care for whether it was the right stop or if he was just stranding himself in the middle of nowhere, Wilbur got off and raced onto the platform. He still felt the burning fire from where that guy had grabbed his waist, spreading across his lower back. He could still feel the horrible sensation of their scents melding together, could still smell his overpowering odour sticking to his clothes. At least he had got away from that creep, he realised, standing by himself on the almost deserted tube platform.

He also realised that this was not the platform he wanted to get off on. It was still one away from where we normally got off the tube. Oh well. He would have to walk.

There was no way in hell he was getting back on or going anywhere near a tube car at the moment. In fact, he wanted out of the station as fast as possible. There were too many scents here and it was starting to freak him out even more than before.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Wilbur made it out of the station in record time. It was still raining, his shoes beginning to get wet from the puddle he had splashed his way into. It wasn’t that far from his flat however, just not the closest stop he could have taken.

Shrugging his hood over his already damp hair, Wilbur set out on his journey, distress radiating from him in waves. He didn’t bother calling Phil, or anyone for that matter, not wanting to have to stand around and get even wetter than he already was. He'd get there faster if he didn’t stop anyway.

He also had no idea how to even begin to explain to the beta what had happened. As the head of the pack, Phil was particularly protective of the other members, much to their chagrin at times. Could he forgive Wilbur for this though? He had let some random alpha scent him, something that was supposed to be exclusive to packmates.

God, Wilbur wanted to cry. The rainwater seeping into his clothes did nothing to clean away the stench dripping on his jacket, consuming him. He could feel it sinking into his very skin, latching onto his bones. He would have gladly ditched his coat and let the rain soak completely into the sweater he had on underneath if it meant that the burning in his nostrils and the phantom touches on his neck would disappear.

Wilbur took a let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, trying desperately to control his breathing as he turned onto the street that housed their shared apartment.

When Phil had not only invited him into his pack, but offered they all find a place to live together, Wilbur couldn’t have been happier. He always found himself smiling inwardly as he walked into the complex, as he knew there would be someone inside to greet him and reset his scent to that of his pack and not the general public. He didn’t know if that would be possible this time around however, with him traipsing this stranger’s scent into the pack.

He desperately tried to compose himself as he climbed the stairs to their floor, having too much nervous energy to take the lift. He had no idea what his packs reaction would be, or even if he would still be part of the pack. The water in his shoes was beginning to soak through to his socks and the suffocating musk still hadn’t left him. All in all, Wilbur was not having a good time.

* * *

Inside the flat, the occupants were calmly waiting for the last of them to return from outside. Kristen was in the kitchen, worriedly eyeing the rain falling fairly heavily outside the window. Techno and Phil were both in their respective rooms, with Phil editing and Techno being his normal reclusive self. Or, as Wilbur liked to call him, a hermit.

Tommy was sprawled out across the length of the sofa, bored out of his mind. He and Wilbur had planned to play terraria tonight, but the omega was yet to return home. He was late—not by much mind you, but the young alpha was impatient.

So impatient that, upon hearing the door to the flat open, he jumped to his feet—fully intending on pouncing on the taller as soon as he stepped through the door. He stilled after a few steps in the direction of the door as a vile concoction of scents met his nose.

A foreign one he had never smelt before was mixed with a heavy amount of distress hanging off of Wilbur's normally calming aroma. The shock of having his strongest sense do a complete one-eighty caused him to stop dead in his tracks long enough for Kristen to rush past him from the kitchen. The older omega’s scent had turned slightly sour with concern and Tommy was sure that his had done something similar.

Jumpstarting his brain back into gear, he turned the corner to the entrance of the flat, seeing a significantly damp Wilbur with his face buried in Kristen's neck. It looked slightly ridiculous—with him bent so far over—but the brunet looked so miserable that Tommy spared him a comment. There was a time and a place.

Cautiously stepping closer to the pair, Tommy could hear Kristen whispering soft reassurances to the younger, while attempting to find out what happened at the same time. Kristen was great like that; she always knew what to do in a crisis.

Tommy however, did not. He had been stood about a meter away from the scene unfolding before him for about two minutes. Yet to do something useful, helpful or to even make his presence known.

That’s why he was inherently grateful when Phil brushed past him carefully. Phil would fix things.

Tommy wondered for a moment how he knew something was wrong before deducing that he had probably smelt Wilbur's distress from his office. This fact was further proven when Techno poked his head out of his room, quickly making his way over as the scent hit his nose properly.

He moved to stand next to Tommy so as to not crowd Wilbur, who seemed to calm down slightly in the presence of his pack. Phil reached up to rub the taller’s scent glands, frowning when he flinched away from his advancing hand. Wilbur appeared to come to his senses a little, craning his neck to place his cheek against Phil's still outstretched hand.

“Hey Will, I know you're scared, but you have to tell us what's going on.” Phil looked calm, but Tommy could see the fear in his eyes as they searched desperately across Wilbur's face.

Whatever response Phil had been looking for—an answer or a solvable problem most likely—probably wasn’t anywhere close to the spew of apologies that came from Wilbur. Phil carefully cut him off after about ten seconds, taking him lightly by both shoulders. 

“Look at me, look at me, you're ok. It’s ok. What happened?”

Wilbur took a couple of deep breaths before responding. “He fuck-” he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. “He fucking scented me.”

Tommy let out a whine at that, jolting forward to slam himself into Wilbur's chest. He wrapped his arms around the brunet, feeling him shakily do the same in return. Getting on his tiptoes, Tommy pressed his nose into the crook of Wilbur's neck trying desperately not to think of who had done this to the omega already.

Wilbur felt arms snake around his middle, and another set wrap around his back as the rest of his pack moved to join the impromptu hug, all of them taking turns to scent him. Techno was grumbling the whole time about how he was going to have to beat someone up and he could see the murderous look in Phil's eyes from a mile away but he had never felt safer.

They stuck to his side for the rest of the night, only letting him out of their sights so he could take a shower. The cream that Phil put on the newly acquired rash on his neck as soon as he got out of the shower was uncomfortably slimy and he was fairly sure that he would be smelling of Tommy for months with the kid scenting him every five minutes but he was fine with that. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realised while writing this that platonic a/b/o is really quite fun, might do more of this in future
> 
> also sorry if updates get a bit slower! i'm currently planning a multi chaptered fic so that's the reason, keep an eye out for that soon maybe ;)
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	7. Red paper towels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much they fought, Wilbur always knew that his twin would be there for him. Techno wasn't about to prove him wrong. [Family fic]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha writing about past life experiences go brrr
> 
> Cw: blood and mentions of dying (no one dies its a couple of sentences)

Wilbur got nosebleeds a lot.

It wasn’t a big deal really, they were never very serious. Just five minutes or so that he needed to stop doing whatever he was doing to just sit, holding a tissue to his face feeling like an idiot; the most awkward thing about them was when they first started.

He had had them enough times to be able to tell one was coming a few seconds before the blood actually dripped, a trait that had saved Phil from having to wash blood out of his clothes many a times. It was only slightly inconvenient when he was left with only one hand to meander his way to the nearest bathroom—with the other one filled with a steadily growing puddle of blood.

They always seemed to come at the worst of times as well. Be it, in the middle of a busy shopping centre, halfway through a maths test or even the one time he had one at the top of a log flume.

The point is, they were a regular occurrence. His friends had long since gotten over any phobia of blood they may have had and his brothers tend to treat them more of an annoyance than something to be concerned about (although his twin always seemed to have tissues on him at all times).

So, when Wilbur made a noise of surprise in the middle of lunch, rushing his hand toward his face to catch the red liquid that had began to drip, no one thought much of it. Niki reached over to pass him a tissue and the previous conversations resumed, knowing that Wilbur would be perfectly fine.

And he was, for about five minutes.

They normally didn’t last much longer than that; this time didn’t appear to be any different. Pulling the tissue back from his face, Wilbur could see that the flow was gradually stopping. He waited another minute or so until it completely stopped before standing up to go find a bathroom in the school building. He was lucky to only encounter push doors on the way as he didn’t think the janitor would want to deal with scrubbing his drying blood off the door handles. Shoving the bathroom door open with the side of his hip, Wilbur made his way over to the sink to wash his hands.

He started at his face in the grimy mirror as he did so, frowning at the blood smeared underneath his nose. He reached his no longer bloody but newly wet hand to wipe it away gently, putting his hand back under the stream of water when his face was clean again.

Except, he probably wasn’t gentle enough. He sighed in frustration as the blood started to run again, reaching across the sinks next to him for a paper towel. It was a far worse texture against his face than the tissue, but it wasn’t like there were many more options available to him. His eyes widened when he felt the blood seep though to his fingers much quicker than he expected it to. He brought the scratchy blue paper away from his face only to be met with nothing but the colour red.

Tissues from a nosebleed were normally blotchy, blood spattered here and there from where he'd changed which bit of it was held against his face. This one was completely covered.

He didn’t have any more time to contemplate that as the blood dripped from his face and onto the rim of the sink. Panicking slightly, he grabbed a handful of paper towels, holding at least two to his nose and decisively ignoring how the fresh blood on his hands stained the places where he held the rest of them.

Those paper towels ended similarly to the one before it, stained completely by his blood, and at this point Wilbur was definitely panicking. Desperately, he grabbed more paper towels, trying his best to wipe the majority of his blood off of the surface of the sink. Spare paper towels in hand, he made his way out of the bathroom, this time uncaring for whatever door handles he bloodied on the way back out to his friends.

They seemed to notice his return fairly quickly, and Wilbur watched as their expression morphed into something akin to surprise. A few of them jumped up from their spots on the floor, hurrying the couple of meters between them. A concoction of questions met Wilbur's ears, far too many for him to answer at once so he decided to make thing easier for himself.

“It’s not stopping,” he supplied simply, watching their faces turn to concern with a healthy amount of horror mixed in. It had easily been ten minutes now since it started, and he had come back from the bathroom bleeding significantly faster than when he left.

Niki seemed to shake herself out of her momentary shock, taking charge of the situation with grace.

“Okay, do you want to sit down? You might get lightheaded after a bit and I don’t want you to fall over.” She took him carefully by the elbows, leading him over to sit by her bag—with Eret on one side of him and Minx on the other. 

The paper towel held to his face was almost to the end of its use, so he was relieved when minx reached into her bag to pull out at least three packets of tissues. Eret gave her the side eye from where they were carefully getting Wilbur to tip his head forward. 

“Why do you have so many? What are you doing in your spare time that requires that many tissues?”

Minx scoffed, scowling as she struggled to open the plastic package with the nail extensions she had on, and Wilbur was fairly sure he heard her mutter a _wouldn’t you like to know weather boy?_ under her breath.

Her expression lightened as Niki gently offered to do it for her, extracting a tissue and handing it to Wilbur. The sheer amount of blood collected in the one he swapped it for made dread start to rise in all of them. This was bad.

That fact was proven further when the bleeding continued for another ten minutes without showing any signs of stopping. Wilbur was glad Niki had gotten him to sit down earlier because his head felt like he was floating. He was still aware enough to be able to feel his friends rising panic however, they weren’t hiding it very well.

They were so obvious in fact, that Wilbur could feel the concern of the people still sat a few metres away. Fundy and Schlatt kept glancing his way nervously, no matter how many times the latter tried to deny it. Even Quackity was quieter, talking less and less the longer Wilbur continued to bleed. He was normally fine after five minutes, why was this time any different?

Just as they were nearing the twenty-minute mark, Niki made an executive decision. She tapped the outside of Wilbur's knee to get his attention and he looked up at her from where he had his head tipped forward.

“Will, do you want us to take you to first aid? They're not normally this serious.”

Wilbur pulled his hand away from his face, eyeing the bloody tissue as Minx passed him a new one to replace it with.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, probably should. I’m “—he took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth heavily— “I'm really dizzy.”

If Niki was scared, she hid it really well, moving to place a comforting hand on his upper arm. “Yeah that’s ok, we’re gonna help you. Don’t worry about it.” She tucked her feet under herself to stand up, stepping back to give Eret space to help Wilbur stand up.

Once on his feet, Wilbur was already missing the comforting presence of the floor. Although he was sure they would have reunited quickly if it weren't for Eret holding him up firmly by the elbow. He watched as Niki went to pick up his bag before being waved off by Minx.

“I've got it. Just you guys get him there and I’ll bring his shit along for him.”

Niki smiled gratefully, walking the few steps to be on Wilbur's other side—packet of tissues in hand.

The walk to the first aid room was shorter than Wilbur remembered it being, as before he knew it he was being coerced onto the stiff bed in the corner. The panic was really starting to set in now; with his brain getting fuzzier and fuzzier the longer his nosebleed continued. He could feel the blood soaking completely through the material and onto his fingers so he made a quiet sound of distress. Both Niki and Eret practically broke their necks to look over at him, stopping their conversation with the nurse in its tracks.

The nurse immediately caught on to the issue, pulling an industrial roll of paper towels out from underneath her desk and placing it on the bed next to Wilbur. Eret moved to sit on his other side, ripping one off the roll for him as his hands were preoccupied.

It was a good thing they were there as well, as Wilbur felt himself tipping forward slightly on the bed, so having someone right next to him to catch him should he need it was probably a good idea.

At some point Minx had joined them, although the room really wasn’t big enough to have this many people in it. The nurse had left at least, most likely to go call his dad to pick him up. He probably wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes though, and at this point Wilbur had been bleeding for well over half an hour. The fact that it didn’t appear to be stopping any time soon did nothing to quell his fear, though his friends tried their bests to keep him calm.

He felt Niki's hand rub comforting circles on his knee, though he couldn’t see her—he had long since given up on trying to hold his head up. He could feel Eret's leg pressed up against his other knee and Minx's nervous presence by the door, hovering uncertainly.

Of course, they were helpful, constantly handing him fresh paper towels and helping him drink water. But there was only really one person Wilbur wanted to see right now.

Techno.

Since they were little—even before being adopted by Phil—Techno had always been the one to look after him, cheering him up when he was sad and protecting him when he was scared. He guessed that he had just internalised it somewhere deep within himself that his twin would keep him safe, which is probably why he found himself asking for him, desperately calling for his slightly older brother.

His friends jumped into action immediately, fuelled by the pathetic look on the brunet’s face.

“You want one of us to get Techno for you? Lunch still isn’t over; we could go find him if you want.”

A weak nod from Wilbur was all Minx needed before she was out the door of the first aid room again. She wasn’t sure when she had gotten so attached to the other that she was willing to spend her lunch traversing the school building instead of actually eating but she wasn’t complaining.

It wasn’t like Techno would be hard to track down; he was a man of habit after all. He could always be found at the same bench with the same people, no matter how cold it is or how bad the weather was. That’s why it wasn’t at all surprising to her to see him sat on the table part of the bench, snickering under his breath at dreams antics.

He seemed surprised to see her however, eyebrows rising to meet his hairline as he stood up to meet her.

“Minx? What're you doin’ here?”

She felt everyone else’s eyes turn to her as she came to a halt in front of him, she didn’t have the time for theatrics though; she had a job to do.

“Wilbur's at first aid, he's asking for you.”

It was probably blunter than it needed to be, based on the way Techno recoiled in shock for a second before stepping closer to question her.

“Is he ok!? What happened?”

Minx took pity on the scared look in his eyes, hastily backtracking before the pinkette could work himself up any more.

“He's fine! Well, kind of. He's like, thirty minutes into a nosebleed,” she admitted, shrugging vaguely with both hands.

His eyes seemed to widen even further than they already were, turning around to shove the book he had out on the table next to him into his bag.

The trip back to the first aid room took far less time than the one away from it, mostly likely due to the anxious seventeen-year old’s fast walking and ridiculously long legs. By the time they made it back Minx was struggling slightly to keep up with him, as he didn’t slow down once the whole way there. He threw his bag down next to Wilbur's as he made his way through the doorway, eyes landing immediately on the boy now laid back on the medical cot.

The boy in question turned his head slightly upon hearing his arrival, reaching towards him weakly while still avoiding Niki—who was now holding the paper towel up to his face for him. It was pretty obvious why, at least, it was to Techno when he felt the pure lack of strength in his twin’s hand after getting a squeeze to his own as a form of greeting.

“Hey Will, you're ok. I'm here,” he reassured gently, reaching out take over from the girl. “You're fine. Everything's gonna be fine.”

Wilbur honestly felt that that couldn’t be further from the truth, but he trusted his twin.

He could feel his fingers laced between his own and chose to focus on that rather than the rapidly worsening situation he had found himself in. He was fairly sure he was single handily contributing to the demolition of the amazon rainforest with the amount of paper he had gone through already; the number still rising as he continued to bleed.

He felt himself drifting, mind floating off to somewhere far more pleasant than the tiny room he had been stuck in for the past fifteen minutes or so. Everything seemed further away, as if he was looking at it through a window instead of through his own two eyes. Techno's dyed hair kept catching his eye, sluggish movements dragging him back over to look at it every few seconds.

He was glad Techno was with him, his twin holding his hand like a lifeline as he desperately tried to distract him from the blood that continued to gush with no remorse. He wondered faintly if he was dying; if this was what it felt like. If he was, he was glad that Techno was with him for it. He wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.

Except maybe, one person.

* * *

When Phil had gotten the call from the school the first thing he did was _panic._

And then, after realising that _oh fuck_ was not a constructive or helpful thought, he dashed out the front door as fast as he could—having to go back for his keys once he actually reached the car and realised he'd left without them.

The school was a solid twenty-minute drive, so long as he followed all the rules of the road to a T, which wasn’t happening at the moment. The roads were empty anyway; it wouldn’t matter if he sped just a little bit. His son needed him.

The wait for the receptionist to sign him in properly was agonising, the broken clock on the wall doing nothing to ease his impatience. He was glad that the first aid room was close to the front doors at least, having the pathing practically memorised after all the stunts his youngest got into.

He shouldered open the weighty office door, taking a sharp right in the direction of the door down the hallway, he counted the steps in his head to try and calm himself down enough that he didn’t immediately burst into the room upon appearing in front of the doorway.

He was composed enough to knock, though not composed enough to wait even a second for any kind of reply before letting himself in. The lunch bell had sounded as he was pulling into the car park so he was startled to see not only Techno, but Niki and Eret gathered around Wilbur at staggered distances. Techno was sat beside his head on the edge of the bed, a bloody tissue in one hand and his twin’s concerningly limp hand clasped tightly in the other.

The man made quick work of the small room, passing Niki and Eret who were leant against the opposite wall to stand next to his eldest son, threading his fingers into the younger’s lawless brown hair. Phil looked back up at Techno's face—the boy’s face pinched in concern as he stared intently at his brother’s face.

“How long since it started?”

Techno met his eyes for a moment before looking uncertainly back at the other two; Eret digging their phone out of their pocket to provide an answer.

“About forty minutes? Since around half past?” they voiced, looking down at the blond for confirmation. She nodded at that and the taller turned back to address Phil with a more confident tone.

“Forty minutes, give or take.”

Phil felt his eyebrows crease at that—knowing Wilbur would’ve teased him for looking the part of an old man had he been more alert.

As if knowing he had crossed his dad’s mind, the boy in question slumped his head to the side, his eyes focusing slightly to take in the new presence at his bedside. His chocolate irises searched around for a minute before landing on Phil, recognition spreading though them at the familiar figure.

“Dad?” he mumbled, pushing his head further into the tender grasp on his head.

Phil chuckled at his childish nature, resuming the movement in his hair as he felt the boy nuzzle against him. “Hey champ, you okay?”

Wilbur opened his mouth to reply but cut himself off as he felt Techno pull the paper towel away from his face. It could have just been a delusional fantasy at this point, but he swore there was less blood on this one than the last.

Techno confirmed his hopes, uttering out a simple “It looks like it’s stopping now.” that made Wilbur feel like was floating for a far better reason than the one he's had for the past half an hour.

The paper towels that Wilbur had grown to despise came away with less and less blood on them over the span of another five minutes before the bleeding stopped completely. The nurse reappeared again with a handful of small packaged cleaning wipes which Phil used to ever so carefully wipe the blood off of his son’s face. The few that he had been given were significantly soiled before he could even move onto cleaning his hands so he decided they would deal with it at home—his sleeves were completely covered anyways.

Techno didn’t seem to mind however, sliding his brothers arm over his shoulder to help him sit up, uncaring of the blood getting on his hoodie; it was stained already. Wilbur made a small noise of protest upon being dragged upright, continuing forward until his head was resting on his twin’s chest. Techno wrapped his free arm around him, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he looked up to address their adoptive father.

“What are you gonna do abou’ Tommy? Since I'm guessing were lugging Wilbur home now,” he asked, shushing Wilbur gently when he moaned softly against his ribcage.

Phil didn’t have the time to think about it for very long in his frazzled state before a call from the door answered for him.

“I can take him home at the end of the day if you’d like? I'm already driving Tubbo so its not a big deal or anything.”

He glanced over to see Eret hallway out into the hallway already, hand resting on the door frame to steady themselves after what appeared to be a quick one-eighty.

“You’re sure?”

They took a couple of steps backwards so they could see Phil without having to lean backwards. “Yeah, of course! You’ve got enough on your plate already, I can handle two teenagers for half an hour,” they smiled, turning to leave again before stopping and tacking on a “Feel better soon Wilbur!” for good measure.

Phil let himself smile back; his boys really did pick great friends.

Turning back around he felt his smile drop slightly. Techno had managed to convince the other to sit up straight, though neither of them looked particularly confident with the outcome. He reached forwards to grab Wilbur under the arm before hauling him to his feet, Techno standing with him to support the majority of his weight.

He looked pitiful: chin thumping against his chest harshly as he hung limply off his brother’s shoulder. But alas, they need to get him home somehow. Phil hesitated slightly, still holding his son by the upper arm, before Techno ushered him away softly.

“I’ve got him, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”

Phil nodded, pivoting on the balls of his feet to pick up the discarded bags by the door only to find them already in the hands of the nurse.

“You can take him to hospital if you really want to, but I think you'll be fine taking him home. Just make sure he gets lots of rest and water. And take this with you, just in case,” she supplied, handing Phil his son’s bags and a whole roll of paper towels.

Phil accepted them with a quiet thank you, taking the bags and sliding one onto each shoulder. He stepped out of the way to let Techno help Wilbur through the doorway, before falling into step beside them—just as a precaution.

He was glad he had the foresight to park close to the building, as the brunet looked ready to keel over by the time they made it to the car. Phil opened the backdoor for the two before dumping the bags in behind them and walking around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. Watching the two of them in the mirror, he pulled out of the parking space, wincing when Wilbur's head jolted with the sudden movement.

The car ride was almost silent the whole journey, only the soft sounds from the radio filling the air. They were still quiet when he pulled into the house, only hushed words exchanged between him and Techno as they worked together to manoeuvre Wilbur onto the sofa.

The silence let up as soon as Tommy arrived home however—the kid brought chaotic energy wherever he went. He brushed past Phil on his way into the house, not slowing down even remotely until he was kneeling on the carpet in front of Wilbur's face.

“Hey big man, how’s it going?”

Wilbur let himself smile at that, his brother's seemingly never-ending talent to brighten up any bay day—no matter how shitty—was at play again.

“Been worse,” he muttered tiredly, seeing a smile creep it’s way onto his youngers brother’s face to match his own.

“I mean hey! Look on the bright side”—Tommy leaned backwards to situate himself so he was sat cross-legged instead of kneeling— “we swindled the school out of a whole ass roll of paper towels!!”

Wilbur chuckled at that, settling more comfortably into the sofa cushions, choosing to ignore the fact that they had no use for a whole roll of paper towels, if only for the look on the blonde’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i AM working on requests, this one just so happened to be done first :)
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


	8. Syncope (Vertigo cont.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur found the worst part of passing out, aside from the obvious sick feeling, was waking up to see which poor soul had been forced to catch you. [IRL fic]
> 
> Or, five times one of his friends caught Wilbur when he passed out and one time no one was around to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the vertigo chapter, it's set in the same universe. It is also completely self indulgent yet again, I just couldn't get this idea out of my head
> 
> Cw: fainting, blood and hospitals (only for the last one)

**1\. Tommy**

The sun was unbearably bright today. 

That was the first thought Wilbur had had when he woke up this morning. It was a reasonable thought to have, he had been woken up by the sun filtering though his curtains for god’s sake, let him complain at least slightly.

The bright light made his eyes burn—caused shapes to dance around his room when he rubbed his eyes to try and eliminate the pain searing across them. It wasn’t just a light show; the pits of hell had also tagged along to heat the globe up and make his day a living nightmare.

It was so hot in fact, that Wilbur forced himself to have a cold shower when he eventually dragged himself out of his bed and into the bathroom. It was by far the best decision he could have made, even if he despised every second of it. Because while he felt dizzier getting out than he did getting in, he would have been much worse off had it been the normal scorching temperatures he was used to.

He didn’t have to time to feel shitty today anyway, he was meeting up with Tommy, Phil and Kristen somewhere in Brighton. He couldn’t remember exactly where off the top of his head, but the kid had seemed pretty excited to be able to meet up in person again, even if it was the fourth or fifth time they had done it.

That’s why Wilbur forced himself to actually eat breakfast, even if he just wanted to skip it entirely. Its also why he spent a solid fifteen minutes before he left with his feet up against his wall, trying to eliminate any and all dizziness before it got any worse. The kid had seen him pass out once already, he didn’t want to repeat the experience.

His body had other ideas; constantly throwing him off balance throughout the day. He'd lost count of how many times one of the others had grabbed him firmly by the elbow, gently preventing him from falling on his face. It wasn’t even that there was a particular thing that was wrong, his body just wasn’t quite used to the whole going out and walking thing after being inactive for so long.

Things had settled slightly after lunch; the beast appeased after being fed something somewhat substantial—if shitty street food could even count as that. They had sat down to eat it as well, another metaphorical weight off of his shoulders. No need to worry about falling over if you aren’t even standing!

They had split up after finishing their lunch, going back to window shopping, with Phil and Kristen wanting to stay behind to look at something that made Tommy—and this is a direct quote— _feel as if he would spontaneously combust with boredom._ So, Wilbur graciously offered to continue walking with him, if only to avoid having the death of a teenager on his conscience.

The two of them walked for a bit longer, bouncing off each other easily as they walked further and further along the road. This was until, of course, Wilbur started getting suspiciously lightheaded.

He asked Tommy if they could stop for a minute, to which the boy obviously agreed, and they found a metre-high wall to sit on, Tommy still rambling animatedly the whole time. Wilbur tried his best to listen, he really did, but it was getting harder and harder to do as time went on. The world was fading in and out of focus, as if displayed on a very old tv screen, and it was starting to properly get to Wilbur.

“I'm sorry Tommy, I might actually pass out,” Wilbur admitted tiredly, reaching a hand up to rub at his eyes.

Concern and fear swept across the boy’s face before he shook it away, replaced with an easy smile.

“It’s alright big man, do you wanna find somewhere where you can lie down for a minute?”

Wilbur hummed in approval, shoving himself off the wall only to be hit by a strong wave of dizziness. He stumbled forward a step or two, halted by a hand grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. Tommy kept Wilbur from toppling over a couple of times before they made it to their destination—a mostly deserted corner of a shopping centre that was clean enough that Wilbur felt okay about lying on the floor.

His knees gave out as soon as he tried to sit down, with Tommy trying his best to slow his descent into something that wouldn’t bruise. He flopped sideways as soon as he was actually on the floor; the blonde lifting his head carefully to place his hoodie between his cheek and the cold tile. Wilbur watched uselessly as the boy crossed his legs to sit beside him, smiling when he saw the older was looking at him.

“Don’t worry big dubs, I'm gonna look after you. Make sure no one robs you or anything like that.”

It was good to see that he had his priorities straight.

Despite the outlandish nature of the statement, Wilbur felt himself smiling as his consciousness left him.

Tommy wasn’t quite sure what to do once Wilbur actually passed out, tapping his hands against the floor beside his legs. He had seen other people check for a pulse in his wrist so he tried that, but either he was doing it wrong or Wilbur was just plain dead. 

He spent the next five or so minutes watching over Wilbur carefully, glaring at anyone who dared to send a dirty or questioning look their way. He had told Wilbur he would look after him and he wasn’t about to be proved a liar.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t relieved when Wilbur's eyes did open, reaching to take his hand when he called out weakly in questioning. Wilbur seemed relieved to see him too, eyes creasing in the corners upon landing on Tommy's face. Tommy chose to take it as a compliment and not a doubt that he would have done anything less than an amazing job watching over Wilbur.

* * *

**2\. Techno**

Techno had the luxury of not seeing Wilbur keel over in person yet, though, by the time his trip was over it was unlikely that that statement would still be true.

It had almost happened a couple of times already, Wilbur’s body had been kicking up a fuss all week.

First, there was the time on Monday when Wilbur and Techno had been hanging out in the kitchen. They had just been cooking—and Wilbur was even sat down for most of it. Unfortunately, the stove had done a pretty good job at heating up the room and when Wilbur stood up from his chair he almost left his consciousness behind in it; the room tilting completely before he caught himself on the counter in front of him.

Then, there was the time on Thursday when the stairs where decisively _too much_ for him to handle. He had barely gotten to the top of them before he had grabbed the wall for support, sliding down it and hoping he didn’t go tumbling straight back downstairs.

Both incidents were punctuated with lots of others that Wilbur couldn’t recall off the top of his head. Instances where he'd stood up too fast or turned on his heel to quick for his brain to keep up with. Many times his vision had blurred—with it clearing up only for Wilbur to find himself sat on the floor, sometimes with a worried Techno on the floor beside him.

Each time however, Wilbur had been fine in a minute or so, reassuring the nervous look on the younger’s face with ease. He could tell that Techno was worried about him, and Wilbur wasn’t prepared for the stress he would cause if he actually passed out.

Of course, he had absolutely zero say in the matter, and the world sure did like finding new ways to punish him.

He had felt it coming on for a couple of hours, a steadily approaching threat that wouldn’t stop advancing no matter what he did. He had gotten off his computer around an hour ago, hoping that some time away from a screen would ease the pounding in his head.

It didn’t—not really.

He had been sat on his bed for the past twenty minutes, desperately trying to stave off what he evidently knew was coming. He was consciously wary of the figure sat in his desk chair, typing away at something on his laptop. He was also fairly sure that Techno was in a vc with someone, which was even worse—another person for him to panic when he inevitably faints.

He thinks he hears Techno ask him something—his voice louder than it would have to be for the microphone to pick it up—but he couldn’t really hear what. Everything seemed fuzzy and all that Wilbur could concentrate on was the feeling of his head in his hands and the blood rushing in his ears.

He really tried to fight it, but he was tired and really couldn’t think of anything better than just giving up at the moment. Wilbur felt only the tinniest bit of regret in the back of his mind as he thought of the other occupant of the room that would most likely freak out, but the gracious hand of nothingness quickly swept it away—taking him away with it.

When Wilbur didn’t immediately respond to Techno's inquiry on the quality of his pc, he didn’t question it. The elder was tired, had been for most of the week, so Techno cut him a little bit of slack.

When he didn’t respond at all Techno got a little concerned, spinning around in his chair to see what was going on. What he didn’t expect to see was Wilbur completely slumped over—one hand hanging limply off the edge of the bed.

He stared for a moment, unsure of what to do, before eventually he came to his senses, turning the chair back to face the desk and reaching for the mouse again.

“Hey Phil, I think I have to go. I'm fairly sure Wilbur's like… _out.”_

He heard Phil make a sound of concern through his headphones, seeing the green bubble appear around his avatar. 

“Yeah, no problem Tech. Just remember that he's fine, alright? No need to panic.”

Techno hummed before leaving the vc, _no need to panic_ he repeated to himself, standing up out of the chair and making his way over to the bed.

No need to panic.

He froze when he reached the edge of the bed, shaking hands halting in mid-air, hovering just above Wilbur's lifeless form. He took a deep breath before grabbing the other’s shoulders, shifting him onto his back.

He tried desperately to remember the first aid class his university had forced him to take, something about rubbing their chest?

Well there wasn’t any harm in trying, he thought, lifting his hand to rest his knuckles in the centre of Wilbur's chest—rubbing them up and down the part in his ribs.

Whatever it was seemed to get a reaction, Wilbur's face scrunching up in discomfort and his hands rising clumsily to his chest to try and block Techno's motions. 

Techno gently moved his hands away, continuing the action until Wilbur's eyes opened and searched around for his face. He smiled faintly when Wilbur tipped his head to the side as a form of greeting, the brunet's hands gently moving Techno's away from his likely sore chest.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you okay?”

Wilbur smiled back at him, quelling all Techno's worries with one simple expression.

“Yeah, I'm okay.”

* * *

**3\. George**

Wilbur used to have a neutral opinion on aeroplanes, before everything that happened.

I mean, they aren’t the most comfortable thing—especially at six foot five. They were leagues better than other means of transport though, flying high above any competition.

Because although Wilbur's legs were cramped, his knees pressed into the back of the seat in front of him as if they were trying to fuse with it; he still had a guarantee of getting a seat. Even if booking one was reminiscent of gambling all his money in a casino, though instead of homelessness and depression the outcome tended to be screaming babies and kicking children.

That was, of course, before lockdown forced his health into a rapid decline.

Even now, with covid almost completely eradicated, he still wasn’t getting much better. He still woke up with the walls tilting awkwardly; still had to catch himself on a wall or sink completely to the floor when he stood up faster than his shitty body could handle. Enough time had passed for vidcon to come back for god sake, he should be fine by now!

Except he wasn’t, and the world was moving on from its complete shutdown with or without him.

Which was why Wilbur was now stood in arrivals of Orland International airport after an utterly miserable flight. His legs were so numb by the end of it that he had to lean some of his weight on his suitcase to be able to stand, toes still tingling with pins and needles. Both take-off and landing had been hell—the sudden change in altitude making his blood pressure completely plummet, leaving him with his head in his hands for a decent length of time afterwards. Over all, he was no longer a fan of flying.

He was brought out of his suffering by a call of his name from somewhere behind him. turning his head as slowly as possible to prevent a blood rush, he was met with the sight of Georgenotfound himself leaning against a support pillar with his luggage on the ground at his feet. He waved as the taller walked towards him and Wilbur waved back in return, praying it didn’t let on to how tired he was feeling. 

The other seemed to catch on regardless, either from the dead look in his eyes or the way he stumbled slightly while walking over. He at least gave Wilbur a second to situate himself before voicing his concerns.

“You alright there?” he asked, eyes following the other as he slumped rather dramatically against the wall next to him.

“We both just got off a nine-hour flight, why are you even asking at this point?”

George snickered at that, kicking his suitcase to the side to ensure it wouldn’t be in the way. “We still have another half an hour or so until the other two’s flight gets in.”

Wilbur groaned as a means of response, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the grimy airport floor. George elected to join him as he moved to rest his feet up on his suitcase, the other man perching on his own case instead of the floor.

Niki and Fundy looked just as dead as the two of them already there when they found their way into arrivals. Greetings were kept mostly short—with none of them having the energy at the moment—and soon they found themselves trudging towards the exit.

Although it was proving harder to find than it should have been, so they were glad when Niki caught sight of Sapnap making his way over to them. The Texan cut off his greeting with a laugh when George all but burrowed into his hoodie, arms snaking around his back to pull him closer.

They found the exit easier with the help of a brain that wasn’t completely fried by jetlag, with Sapnap leading them to his car parked outside. It was a surprise when all of the luggage fit in the boot, with Fundy putting Niki's in for her as she was practically falling asleep standing up.

It was a slight squeeze to get them all in the car, a collective agreement between them to let Wilbur sit in the passenger seat. It did mean that Niki was unfortunately confined to the middle seat—as the smallest—but she didn’t seem to mind, almost immediately falling asleep on Fundy, who was to her left.

That placed George behind Wilbur, which turned out to be a lucky choice as he was the most awake person that wasn’t currently driving. Meaning, when Wilbur suddenly went boneless out of nowhere, he was aware enough to catch him.

Sapnap cried out in alarm as an arm shot through the gap between the front seats, reaching to hold Wilbur's head up to stop him from slouching forward completely. The man in the front seat didn’t respond at all to the hand slapped to his forehead, which was arguably more worrying, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as George quickly took control of the situation.

“Get off the motorway.”

Sapnap didn’t bother to argue with him, simply changing lane to take the next available exit off of the main road. George unbuckled his seatbelt, shrugging the strap off his shoulder to lean forward more in his seat while ignoring both Fundy and Sapnap's protests.

He justified himself with a simple “He's gonna hurt himself.” before moving to sit on the very edge of his seat, pulling Wilbur's head back until it was pressed against the headrest.

George could feel Wilbur's eyes twitching by the eyelashes brushing against his palm, meaning he also felt when the brunet’s eyes opened fully—just over two minutes after they rolled back. He looked around uncertainly, trying to move his head to the side but finding himself stopped by George's hand.

He went to take his hand away, but quickly placed it back when Wilbur's head started to fall forward without its support.

Wilbur wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He just knew that whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

Everything was too blurry to make out, but wherever he was, he was moving. He could tell by the way his body jolted every so often, sending his head spinning into another realm. Although weirdly, his head wasn’t moving around at all—it was completely fixed in place. Huh, that was strange.

Now that he thought about it, he could definitely feel something pressed against his face, holding his head still. It took him a minute to recognise that this mysterious thing was in fact, a hand, and just like that everything snapped into focus.

The light were too bright and the sounds were too loud, almost all of his senses were being completely overwhelmed and he was suddenly very aware of the fact he was in a _moving car._

He took a deep breath, reaching out his hand to steady himself on the centre console and feeling fingers brush his own in the process. He looked to his left to meet both Sapnap's and George's worried eyes, with George seemingly hanging out of the backseat to reach him.

“Hey Wilbur, you okay?”

Wilbur didn’t quite know how to respond to that one. “Mmm… pull over?” is what he went with, phrased like a question and barely audible over the hum of the car.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it. Don’t worry,” Sapnap responded, eyes turned back to the road.

Wilbur hummed in return, letting George gently guide his head to rest on the car door. He let his eyes slip closed again, knowing his friends would look after him.

* * *

**4\. Dream**

Dream and Sapnap had done a good job in picking an apartment, it was a nice place.

The rest of them had been given a short tour upon arrival, though everyone was far too tired and far too jet lagged to pay much attention. Of course, they were ever grateful that the two of them were letting them stay for the extent of vidcon. Their place was too close to the venue for them to not offer it to at least some people; they had a weird abundance of spare mattresses as well.

Wilbur didn’t bother to question it, it was coming in handy and he had a similar situation in his own flat.

They had dispersed after around ten minutes, with everyone going their separate ways. He knew that Niki had gone to take a nap and, knowing his track record, George had probably done the same. Fundy was with him in the small kitchen—albeit on the complete opposite side of the thing. Neither of them were talking; Fundy was not quite looking at something on his phone, head resting on his palm, while Wilbur was leaning on the island drinking a glass of water.

He had hoped he would’ve felt at least a little bit better by now, but whoever was up there wasn’t in his corner today. His head still thrummed with waves of dizziness and his hands still shook the glass he had a less than firm grip on. He was tempted to just put the damn thing down on the counter next to him, lest he smash it into tiny pieces, but he really needed to do something to get his heartrate under control and he wasn’t about to sit on the floor in the middle of the kitchen—as much as he desperately wanted to.

Because that would worry everyone, and he'd done enough of that already today. It was bad enough that he had woken up this morning to messages from both Phil and Techno asking if he would be alright on the nine-hour flight without the fact of having George's concerned face burned into the back of his mind. He didn’t need them to look after him, he was fine.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It felt as if he was trying to wish it into reality; to wish away the horrible feeling that had been spreading though him for the past ten minutes. He knew he was going to pass out, he just didn’t want to think about it too much.

Except it was getting harder and harder to ignore it, his head dropping down and his eyes slipping shut for a few seconds. He needed to put his water down before he really did smash it. 

He shakily placed the glass beside him on the island, hand moving to grip the edge for support. He really wanted nothing more than to sit down at the moment, even if it wasn’t an option. It would be awkward for someone to just, _find_ him on the floor in the kitchen—it would worry them probably, and Wilbur didn’t want that at all.

It didn’t look as if he had a choice on the matter though, as he heard someone walk into the kitchen at that very moment. They weren't walking towards him at least—going somewhere closer to Fundy's half of the room.

Wilbur lost track of where they went after that, he lost track of a lot actually. He was faintly aware of the lights getting brighter—as if he was looking into the face of god himself—and his knees giving out completely before the black dots spread even further across his vision and the world was completely gone. He really hoped Dream wouldn't care that he just collapsed in his kitchen.

Dream did care. He cared a lot in fact, just not for the reasons that Wilbur had feared. He had cared when the other man had practically stumbled out of the car, having to lean on the roof of it so he wouldn’t eat dirt. He had cared when he walked into the kitchen of his apartment to find him swaying on his feet, looking as if he was about to keel over. He certainly cared when the other man actually did keel over, rushing forward to make sure he didn’t brain himself on the island or the floor.

He was surprisingly heavy for how boney his arms looked, dead weight pulling Dream to the floor with him. The blonde had tried to set him down as carefully as possible, but it was hard when the man slumped against his chest pushed him back onto his ass, legs on either side of his unconscious friend.

Distantly, he was aware that Wilbur did this a lot, that he would be perfectly fine after about ten minutes, and that it was nothing to worry about. That didn’t stop him from panicking slightly.

It was scary—having someone you cared about pass out, even if you knew it was normal.

It was scary to see Wilbur like that, completely limp in his arms. He could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest so he knew the elder wasn’t dead or anything, even if the white of his rolled back eyes wanted him to believe differently. He was so focused on the way Wilbur's head lolled at what was surely a bad angle against his shoulder, on the way his fingers twitched slightly against the kitchen tile, that he didn’t even notice Fundy had moved towards them until he was right in front of him.

He went to reach out to touch Wilbur, before hesitating and pulling his hand back to his chest, frown prominent on his face.

“He's out again?”

_“Again?”_

Dream looked up to Fundy's face for answers, finding only a scared look that was likely identical to his own. “Yeah, he passed out in the car. Nearly fuckin’ broke his neck in the process.”

Dream was sure he paled at that, lifting a hand to gently reposition the brunet’s neck so it was laid more straight against him. The man in question made a noise in his sleep, crying out softly as he exhaled into Dream’s neck. Fundy shushed him quietly, whispering reassurances under his breath as he moved his spasming hand to rest on Dream’s leg to take his pulse.

“It’s really fast… is that normal?” Fundy asked, glancing up at Wilbur’s face uncertainly before his eyes eventually landed on the only other conscious body in the room. Dream shrugged as best he could with the extra weight on his chest, feeling completely lost for one of the first times in his life. He really had no idea what to do; meaning he felt relief course through him upon seeing Wilbur's eyes open hazily.

Dream placed a hand on his cheek, smiling weakly when the other moved to look up at him.

“Dream?” Wilbur murmured questioningly, so faint that the other two had to strain their ears to hear it.

“The one and only. You doin’ okay?” 

Wilbur looked around dazed before noticing he was slumped against the younger. He tried to push himself out of his arms but was nudged back down by both Dream and Fundy—forced to comply until he had at least some of his strength back.

“Sorry did I-“ he pulled his head away from the blonde’s shoulder to be able to see his fretful face properly. “Did I fall on you?”

Dream chuckled, letting the other sit up this time as he tried to pull away once more. He still kept a hand on his arm ready to steady him should he need it.

“I'm glad you did, don’t worry about it. You feeling alight though?”

“Yeah sorry, flight kinda killed me.”

Dream laughed lightly at that, smile coming easier now that Wilbur was getting colour back to his pale face, knowing he would be fine.

* * *

**5\. I would call this a collective effort**

Vidcon was definitely worth the horrible endeavour to get here.

The fans were all lovely and it filled him with such joy to actually see the people that raved about his content, it really made all the struggles worth it. It was a great experience as well, with lots of booths and bright faces just bursting with laughter and stories.

Of course, the best thing about it by far was the fact he got to see all his friends. There were so many people he had met for the first time on the first day of vidcon and he couldn’t have been more ecstatic. If someone asked him to, he could go on for hours and hours about what amazing people his friends are, and to meet them in person was heaven on earth. 

He found himself going to bed later and later each night he was there, staying as long as he could before heading back to Dream’s house to call it a night. Eventually, that decision started having negative effects on health, with him finding it a little bit harder to get out of bed in the morning. He still did though; disregarding his health only lightly in favour of hanging out with his friends.

It was probably not one of his best ideas, vidcon was a demanding convention even for a perfectly healthy person. The meet and greets were draining, no matter how much he loved them. Standing for hours on end was already a severe threat to his blood pressure, let alone having to hide the fact that anything was wrong the whole time.

The convention hall was big as well, walking between events feeling a bit like a hike, something that you couldn’t even bribe Wilbur to take part in.

That why he was inherently grateful when a group of his friends decided to stop for lunch—somewhere cut off from the general public so they wouldn’t be swarmed by fans. It had been a long time since his breakfast of weirdly sugary cereal (that was the second thing that Americans did weird, the first was being American) and he was starving.

Unfortunately, eating did nothing more for him than make a sick feeling settle in the bottom of his gut. It did nothing to help with the faint feeling that had been slowly spreading through him since he got up in the morning and it certainly didn’t help with the way his vision swam as he stood back up again.

If anything, he could make the argument that the food had had the complete opposite effect from what was desired. That fact was becoming more and more obvious as the spinning of his head continued on, even past the point where it would normally clear up.

He could feel his consciousness slowly slipping away from him, but he couldn’t really find it within himself to care. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep.

Various shouts of alarm were voiced as Wilbur's body suddenly went limp, pitching towards the ground.

At least four sets of hands reached out to grab him, the joint effort between them stopping the musician from braining himself on the hard floor. Everyone not currently involved in the attempt to lower him to the ground safely froze, slowly turning to see what was going on—shock perhaps increasing upon taking stock of the situation.

Everyone seemed to jump into action at once, someone producing a jacket to place under his head, handing it to Schlatt who was sat on the ground by Wilbur's head. Someone else moved to lift his legs, placing them gently in their lap to hold them up above the ground. Two people reached to check his pulse at once—one on his wrist and the other at the side of his neck—they both came to the same conclusion however; it was really fast.

Eret, the second closest to Wilbur after Schlatt, reached to shake his shoulder softly—calling his name loud enough that he would hopefully respond.

He didn’t respond, simply continuing to sleep through any attempts to rouse him.

And there were attempts, plenty of them in fact; hands tapped against cheeks, shoulders shaken gently, and then not so gently when a lack of response persisted. They even poured water over his face, watching it run into his hair with a look between them that communicated the same thing: Wilbur was gonna be pissed when he woke up.

That was, if he woke up. It had been a decent fifteen minutes by now and the brunet was still out cold. At this point they were searching for even the slightest sign of consciousness; the tinniest sliver of hope.

And they got it.

It was so small that they almost missed it, but someone caught on to the fact that his eyes were halfway open—slits of brown peeking past his fluttering eyelashes.

“Wilbur? Hey Will can you hear me?”

He didn’t respond, or maybe he couldn’t respond, he just continued to take laboured breaths and ignore the multitude of hands trying to bring him back into awareness.

Schlatt picked his limp hand up off the concrete, clasping it between both of his own and giving it a hopefully comforting squeeze. If his hands crushed the other’s hand ever so slightly with nerves, at least he wasn’t awake to complain about it.

“Can you squeeze my hand for me Wilbur? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” he pressed gently, concern growing as the other took a shaky but deep breath.

They all waited anxiously for a reply and collectively melted with relief when they got one—Wilbur's hand tightening around Schlatt's just enough to be visible.

It still took Wilbur a decent couple of minutes until he opened his eyes fully, squinting against the sun before someone leaned over him to block it. They forced him sit up after another five or so minutes, if only so they could coerce him into drinking a strangely coloured sports drink, he didn’t put up that much of a fuss, if only to complain about the purple hue of the beverage, content to slump against Eret's side until he got his strength back.

“Okay, this might be a bit too soon, but I've gotta say it.” Everyone looked to Schlatt as he spoke up, wondering just where he was going with this. “Wilbur, the way you fell was so unbelievably overdramatic—even for you.”

Wilbur let out a snort, moving to hide his smirk into his drink as he watched Niki lightly smack the man upside the head. At least he didn’t go for the _you’re just falling for me_ joke that he's heard enough already, even if it’s still funny.

* * *

**+1. The exception**

The apartment was quiet, a condition Wilbur was both loving and hating at the moment.

Each point of view had its benefits and detriments, though Wilbur was having a hard time fully working them through currently.

On one hand, the silence was really helping the pounding in his head. It was a pulsing ache, starting from the part of his head pressed against his bedroom floor and spreading through his entire skull—congregating just behind his eyes for maximum discomfort. It hurt so bad that he was sure if there was a single sound made anywhere in his general vicinity, he would simply disintegrate into dust.

On the other hand, silence meant he was home alone—something that was less than ideal.

It had been fine when his flatmates had first left, he was a perfectly capable young adult who would be fine for a couple of hours while his friends did whatever they were doing; Wilbur couldn’t remember what with the frazzled state of his brain.

He really wished they were here however; something was really wrong.

He could tell by the fact that he had woken up on the floor unable to move. The first part was something he was pretty used to at this point but the second part was what scared him.

It was a strange sensation—he could feel his fingers and toes just fine, but any attempt to stir them even the slightest of amounts was met with radio silence. It was as if his brain had simply given up on sending any signals to the rest of his body.

It seemed his brain had given up on a lot of things all together, it had taken far too long for it to process that he was on the floor and even longer to remember falling to the floor in the first place. He remembered closing discord to go and hunt himself a meal from the kitchen fairly clearly, and he remembered standing from his desk chair but anything after that was blurry—an attribute that had stayed with him even after he woke up.

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that something was really _really_ wrong but he couldn’t quite pinpoint how he had obtained that information, at least, not until he felt the wet sticky substance seeping further and further into his hair. 

It annoyed him at first; not only was it messing up his hair, but it was plainly a horrible texture against the side of his head. He weakly reached a hand up toward what he assumed was the source, only to greatly regret that decision as pain flared from the area of his head that he touched. He pulled his hand back as quickly as his severely delayed reaction time would let him, squinting at his fingers as the colour red was introduced to the swirl of obscure shapes that was his vision currently.

It took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to recognise that the red coating his hand was in fact, blood. It was his blood—he was bleeding.

_Oh god he had hit his head._

Of all the things that could have gone wrong today, Wilbur was not expecting a head injury to be anywhere on the list. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that it would be something he would have to worry about, but now he had been forced to worry about it he had no idea what to do.

The sight of his blood slowly dripping from his hand and onto the floor made him want to throw up so he let his hand fall limply back to the floor. He slowly turned his head to get away from the sticky sensation that was spreading to the edge of his face, now laying on his back staring up at the ceiling.

He could see a lot more of his room at this angle, working out lethargically that he didn’t make it very far after standing from his desk—the wheels of his chair just to the left of him. He could also see his desk from this angle, meaning he had a perfect view of the blood trickling down the leg nearest him; a sizeable amount pooling right at the sharp corner at the top of it.

The sight made him sick so he closed his eyes, furrowing his brow as the image painted itself over the backs of his eyelids. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he was bleeding everywhere, that his blood was running down his desk after he had obviously cracked his head on it, that it would most likely leave a stain on the floor.

That’s why, when the threat of unconsciousness loomed back over him like the grim reaper aching for souls, he didn’t even try to fight it. He just let the welcoming darkness accept him with open arms.

When Wilbur next came to, he was laid on something far more comfortable than his floor, leading him to believe that someone must have found him.

Whether that someone was one of his flatmates coming home to find him in a pool of his own blood or the boney arms of death itself was open to interpretation.

The interpretation was made for him as he opened his eyes to a dingy hospital room, the lights turned as far down as they possible could be. He had to squint through the darkness and the black spots in his vision but he could make out David and Matt near the foot of the bed, the former asleep with his head tipped back against the wall and the latter with his head on his elbows at the end of the mattress.

The feeling of needles in both of his arms and bandages wrapped tightly around his head was unpleasant, but a massive step up from the splitting pain he had felt the last time he was awake.

He settled back into the pillows, letting the tiredness in his bones lull him back to sleep. His head still really hurt, even if it was muffled somewhat, and it overall felt as if he had been hit by a truck but hey, at least he wasn’t dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added in an extra scene to the end of the +1 after a friend of mine said they would be sad if it ended angsty, for u giraffe <3
> 
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm is a discord server for fanfiction readers and writers alike !! feel free to join if you want to talk to me or other mcyt writers, we have lots of cool features :]]
> 
> come bother me https://goatly-sacrifices.tumblr.com/


End file.
